


Thin Ice

by Tedda



Category: Men's Hockey RPF
Genre: Additional Warnings In Author's Note, Age Difference, Anal Sex, Blow Jobs, Fluff and Angst, M/M, Mutual Pining, Pining, Rimming
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-08
Updated: 2021-03-05
Packaged: 2021-03-12 10:34:19
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 9
Words: 47,685
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28634067
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tedda/pseuds/Tedda
Summary: It's already bad enough that Patrick's falling in love with a teenager. The fact that said teenager is his teammate's son doesn't make it any easier.
Relationships: Patrick Kane/Jonathan Toews
Comments: 125
Kudos: 230





	1. Chapter One

**Author's Note:**

> First of all, a few warnings:  
> I'm NOT kidding about the age difference here. This fic takes place in 2023 which means that Pat is in his mid-30s while Jonny is 18. Jonny's also Pat's teammate's son so even though Pat wasn't at all close to Jonny before, he used to see him around when Jonny was a kid. There will also be explicit scenes of Pat and Jonny having sex without Jonny's parents being aware of it. If any of this is an issue for you, you probably shouldn't read this fic.
> 
> Other than that, I owe a huge thank you to Kat for betaing and spending so much time on this with me and to Sarah and Kira for all the help and support. You guys are the best!

Patrick barely recognizes Jonny at first.

He's taller than Patrick now, bigger and more muscular than the skinny teenager Patrick remembers. There's still a hint of baby fat on his face, a baseball cap is sitting backward on his head, and his cheeks have a rosy color to them. Somehow, he looks both young and old at the same time, nothing like the small boy Patrick vaguely remembers running through the Hawks locker room all those years ago.

They haven't seen each other in years; the last time must have been before Jonny left home to go to boarding school and that was what—three years ago? Four?

 _Fuck_.

Time flies.

It seems like it was only two years ago that Patrick arrived in Chicago as a rookie and started playing with Jonny's dad. Sometimes Patrick forgets how much time has passed—Jonny must have been in _diapers_ back then.

He's been a veteran on the team for so long that he's gotten used to the leadership role that he used to dread so much, and he’s become comfortable giving advice to rookies who look like they're too young to even be in the league. Many of his teammates are barely older than Jonny now, almost young enough to be Patrick's son.

So, it's stupid to expect Jonny to be the same young boy he was a few years ago when he moved out, but Patrick still isn't prepared for the young man he meets at the Hawks' barbeque party.

He had no idea Jonny would be coming today—Bryan didn't even mention that Jonny was home—and since Jonny hasn't been around in so long, Patrick assumed it would only be Bryan, Andrée, and David today. Jonny can't be any older than 17 or 18, and Patrick sure as hell hated his parents' dinner parties at that age.

Sharpy is hosting an unofficial celebration for the ten-year anniversary of their 2013 cup, and the backyard is packed with people. Almost everyone was able to make it, and Sharpy's place is barely big enough to fit all the players, wives, and children.

Patrick's standing by the small buffet—two old tables shoved together that might collapse under the weight of all the food and drinks crammed onto it—when Jonny walks over, one eyebrow raised.

His voice is surprisingly deep and calm, "Are you okay?"

Patrick flinches.

 _Jeez_.

How long has he been staring as if he's never seen a teenager before?

Jonny looks more familiar up close, his face a little more boyish than his body. He's got Bryan's eyes, the same deep brown color, and the same intensity in them as he stares at Patrick. It's a little unnerving.

Patrick forces a grin to his face. "Yeah sorry," he says quickly. He finally grabs the slice of pizza he meant to get and takes a step back from the buffet table. "I just haven't seen you in forever."

"Been a few years," Jonny agrees. He grabs a bottle of beer and shrugs as he pops the cap and tosses it into one of the trash cans underneath the table.

"How have you been?" Patrick asks into the short moment of silence. "Enjoying college?"

For some reason, kids and the family are topics that rarely come up in the locker room, and it's been awhile since Bryan mentioned that Jonny was starting college. He hasn't heard much about him since then, though. Jonny might not even be in college anymore, but he grins as he follows Patrick to one of the tables nearby, setting his beer down in front of him once he sits down.

"It's alright," he says, his tone a little sheepish. "It's good to be back though. I haven't been home in a while."

"I didn't know you'd be here today."

"I wasn't sure if I'd come." Jonny shrugs. "Dad had to convince me."

"The 2013 Stanley Cup Champions aren't good enough for you, huh?"

"No," Jonny deadpans, rolling his eyes, but he's smirking, a glint in his eyes that reminds Patrick of Andrée whenever she's teasing her husband. Jonny drums his fingers along the bottle of beer, tearing his eyes away from Patrick's face for a moment. "I guess I just didn't know—there's not a lot of people here for me to hang out with, you know?"

People are scattered into little groups all over the yard, and, well, no one has gotten any younger over the past ten years. There are more retired players than active, and everyone who's still playing is closer to the end of their career than the beginning. They had a young team back in 2013—few players already had kids back then—and now there are only guys in their late 30s or 40s reminiscing about the good old days, or ten-year-olds chasing each other around the yard. Jonny fits into neither group.

"I guess you're stuck with me then," Patrick jokes, watching Jonny grimace in response, his eyes still shining with amusement.

"You're alright, I guess."

Patrick laughs at the very familiar monotone tone, so strikingly similar to Bryan's, shaking his head before taking a bite of his pizza while Jonny starts picking at the edge of his bottle’s label.

They fall silent again, the screeching of the kids filling the air, drowning out the laughter from the adults.

"My dad says you guys are looking forward to the season," Jonny says after a while. "Are you feeling good about the team?"

Patrick lets out a soft sigh. "It's been a long summer," he admits. "But I like our roster."

"You like the defense?"

"It should be a lot better than last year. I like the trades we made."

"I think it depends on if you guys can stay healthy," Jonny says. "You have more depth this year, but if one key player gets injured—I don't know, I think that could be a problem."

Patrick hates to admit it, but Jonny has a point. From what he remembers, Jonny has always been a big hockey fan, and, like so many kids of NHL players, Jonny could skate before he knew how to walk.

"What do you think about our offense?"

"Mm, I don't know." Jonny keeps a very straight face. "There's this old guy—number 88. He's really slowing them down. Terrible hands, too. I don't know why they're keeping him on the team, he should just hang it up for good."

It's hard not to laugh when Jonny looks so serious, his face somber like he means every single word.

"Careful," Patrick says, barely biting back a grin. "Have some respect."

Jonny laughs as he takes another sip of beer, watching Patrick shake his head.

"So," he asks before he can get chirped by an 18-year-old again. "How's hockey going for you?"

Jonny's got his father's talent, has always been good, and there's been some talk about possibly going pro, even before he left home to go to boarding school. Patrick still remembers his surprise when Bryan mentioned a few months ago that Jonny decided against it, that he was still playing but wasn't interested in a pro career anymore. Maybe Patrick just assumed that someone as good as Jonny would always dream of an NHL career because it's all Patrick could think about when he was a kid.

"It's fun," Jonny says. A ball that the kids are playing soccer with rolls over, and he stops it effortlessly to kick it back with a fond eye roll, his younger brother chasing after it with a yelp. "The team is great, we're playing well. I enjoy it."

"But not enough to go pro?"

"Not anymore." Jonny offers with a shrug, almost as if he expected the question. When he meets Patrick's eyes, there's not even a hint of regret or doubt in his expression. "I still want to play, and I still love the game, but I guess I just realized that I don't want to turn pro anymore."

For someone who's already spent so much time away from home to play, who invested so much into what could be a promising career, it's a huge decision to make. And somehow, Patrick can't help but wonder if it was an easy call or how long it took Jonny to make that decision. Whether he ever had any second thoughts at all.

"What else do you want to do then?" he asks, swallowing the last bite of pizza down. "Have you decided on a major yet?"

"Not yet." Jonny grimaces in response. The topic clearly isn't his favorite. "I guess I never thought much about it because I thought I'd end up playing hockey anyway. And now..." He huffs. "I know what I don't want to do, but I have no clue what I do want. I don't know if dad mentioned it, but I don't think I'll return to college for now. My parents say it's my decision, but I guess I'd have to find a job or an internship while I'm here to have something to do while I figure it out."

Patrick nods, watching Jonny absently continue to rip little pieces off the label.

"I guess it just feels weird not to know what to do with my life," he adds. "I've always thought I'd be a hockey player, and now, that I don't want that anymore—it's weird not to know suddenly. It feels like I should have it figured out, but I just have no clue."

Patrick huffs out a soft breath. "Jonny, you are 18. You're still a kid. There's nothing you should have figured out."

"My dad already had a kid at 18," Jonny points out, the corner of his mouth twitching. "And you were about to become a millionaire."

"I wasn't a millionaire _yet_. And it's not like your father and I are the norm."

Jonny takes a long pull of beer and shrugs again as he proceeds to trace his thumb along the label, chasing a small drop of water as it's running down the bottleneck.

"How did you know?" he asks quietly, his dark eyes intense as he tears them away from the bottle. "That hockey was it for you?"

The way he looks at Patrick—his gaze both casual and piercing at the same time—is a little unsettling. Patrick has to look away, suddenly wishing he still had some of his pizza left so he'd have something to do with his hands.

"I just knew," he answers. "I can't remember a time where hockey wasn't my dream. And when that dream started to become a possibility—it was never a question to me. I don't think I ever stopped and wondered if I made the right choice."

"What would you have done if it hadn't worked out?"

"I knew it would." It might sound arrogant, but it's the truth. He barely remembers doubt when he looks back at his childhood. Only anger that other people wouldn't give him the credit he deserved, along with the fierce determination that he would make them eat their words one day. "I knew that I was good enough and that I could make it. I never considered anything else."

He's given that answer more than once over the years. Usually, he earns at least a teasing comment about being too cocky, but Jonny doesn't even roll his eyes. Instead, he nods, his eyes never leaving Patrick's

"How did you know that hockey _wasn't_ what you wanted?" he asks softly, watching Jonny furrow his eyebrows, a small frown making its way to his face.

"I guess I just knew," he says slowly. "It just didn't feel right."

Patrick nods back. "I think you’ll know once there is something else you're passionate about."

"I guess," Jonny says, even slower, like he's processing what Patrick said. As if it's something he maybe didn't quite believe himself, that he needed someone else to say out loud. "I guess—yeah. Thank you."

He's still looking at Patrick with the same deep intensity, and Patrick has to tear his gaze away. Before he can open his mouth to respond, someone yells his name across the backyard, and then Sharpy flops down next to him, an obnoxious grin on his face.

Patrick grimaces instinctively, and Jonny's head snaps up as if he was too engrossed in his own thoughts and the conversation to notice Sharpy.

"I see you're letting a minor drink, Kaner?" Sharpy nods to Jonny's beer, his grin widening at the frown making its way to Jonny's face. "Tsk, tsk. I should let his dad know."

"Don't," Jonny interrupts sharply, but Patrick doesn't think Bryan would mind.

He sure as hell didn't mind a beer back when they were underaged rookies, relying on the older guys to order alcohol for them. Bryan didn't make it to the bars with them often—while he was one of the youngest guys on the team, he was also one of the few to have a girlfriend and a little kid at home—but he didn't hold back either when he went with them.

Sharpy laughs, a very gleeful expression on his face.

Jonny lets out a long-suffering sigh.

"Weren't you the one buying me shots my rookie year?" Patrick asks, elbowing Sharpy's side to nudge him a little further away.

"No, that was Bur," Sharpy answers solemnly, barely moving an inch.

The response makes Jonny snort into his beer before he shoots Patrick an amused glance, his lips stretched into a smile, the glint from earlier back in his eyes. It doesn't disappear, even when Bryan joins them, silently raising one eyebrow at the beer in his son's hand. Jonny offers an innocent shrug in return and, just as Patrick expected, Bryan doesn't say anything about his age or the alcohol.

"Remember when we all went out after the season ended?" Sharpy interrupts. "And Shawzy kept handing Saader shots until he was completely wasted? They ended up almost kicking us out when they realized he was underage."

There is a distant memory at the back of Patrick's mind, a furious guy yelling at them, threatening to call the police, but it’s kinda foggy. He might have had a couple of shots himself that day.

Everyone starts giggling at the memory, and once they've started thinking about the good old times, they keep going.

Remember how Bryan would coach us all during the lockout? Remember that time when Seabs threatened to punch Shawzy? Remember that one party in LA? Remember how Sharpy pranked Kaner? How about that time the bus got stuck in traffic and we almost missed the game?

Watching Jonny makes Patrick feel like a kid again, stuck at the dinner table with his grandparents, listening to the same stories that get told at every family dinner. It's kind of funny watching the frown on Jonny's face get more prominent with every story, his sips of the beer longer as if he's hoping that one bottle of Bud Light is enough to get him drunk.

He finally sets the empty bottle down with a loud thud, groaning.

"I'm gonna go and find Uncle Seabs," he announces with an eye roll. "Maybe he's living a little less in the past."

Bryan chuckles and pats his shoulder before Jonny shrugs him off to move away. Patrick doesn't miss that he makes a quick trip to the kitchen and comes back with another beer.

Seabs is at the other end of the yard, sitting on a bench with Duncs. He looks up when Jonny approaches them, saying something that makes Jonny laugh and gesture back at Sharpy who's too busy chirping Shawzy to notice. Patrick watches Seabs reach out to mess with Jonny's hair, and Jonny swats at his hands, a bright grin on his face. Given how close Seabs and Bryan are, it's no surprise that Jonny is comfortable enough to flop down with his back leaned against Seabs' shoulder.

Patrick never really got close with him. Jonny was only two when Patrick started playing with his father, and he was never as close to Bryan in those early days as the Hawks marketing might have suggested. They were friends and got along fine, but Bryan had a wife and a child to go home to while Patrick was more interested in investing his new money into booze and enjoying the new lifestyle. He wasn't very interested in babysitting his teammate's son or talking about pacifiers. The kids that were born after Jonny—Sharpy's girls, and Seabs' and Duncs' boys—started calling him Uncle Patty pretty quickly, and Patrick would happily hang out with them, but that never happened with Jonny. He's more of a stranger that Bryan sometimes mentions than someone Patrick could have witnessed growing up. Otherwise he might have made an effort to get together with the Toews family for dinner when Jonny was home after he had moved out, when Patrick stopped seeing him around at team parties sometimes.

Bryan spots him staring and laughs, the noise making Patrick flinch as he quickly tears his eyes away. For some reason, he almost feels caught.

"He's growing up so quickly," Bryan says, fondness written all over his face.

Patrick forces himself to grin. "I barely recognized him," he admits. "I know it's been a couple of years but, jeez, I didn't realize he'd be so tall."

Bryan hums as he turns from Jonny back to Patrick, an apologetic smile on his face. "Maybe it's selfish, but I am happy he's going to stay here for a while. It was tough to let him leave home so early."

"I wouldn't call that selfish."

"Good." Bryan chuckles. "Andrée has been teasing me about it."

"As she should."

Bryan rolls his eyes in response, letting out a soft sigh.

"But it's good to have the whole group together, eh?" he adds after a short moment of silence. "I don't think we've all been in one place since the cup."

"Makes me feel old," Patrick grumbles, earning a teasing chuckle in response as if he doesn't know that Bryan is feeling just as weird as Patrick about all the teammates that are young enough to have watched the two of them play for Chicago when they were growing up.

But Bryan is right. It's the most fun Patrick's had in a while. He manages to catch up with most of the guys, plays some hockey with Shawzy's son, and braids Sadie and Maddie's hair later in the evening.

"You can braid?" Jonny asks breathlessly, flopping down on the grass next to them. He had been messing around with his brother and a basketball, and David is still complaining that Jonny's height is an unfair advantage

"Jonny, I grew up with three sisters," Patrick says, twisting one strand of blonde over the other, not bothering to hide the smug tone in his voice. "I am a master of braiding." He wraps the hair tie around the end of the braid and, with one swift motion, drapes the hair around Sadie's shoulder. "There you go. Does it feel okay? Anything too tight or uncomfortable?"

She cranes her neck, fingers sliding along her hair before she shakes her head, a wide grin on her face as she turns around to place a kiss on his cheek. "Thanks, Uncle Patty."

"You're welcome."

She runs off with Maddie and David which leaves only Jonny and Patrick on the grass, surrounded by an impressive amount of hair ties and clips that Maddie brought down from her room. Patrick absently picks a few up, but since there's no box to put them, he ends up awkwardly cradling them in his hand. Jonny's picking a blade of grass, and Patrick can feel him glance over a few times, his gaze never lingering for long.

For some reason, Patrick has to clear this throat before he trusts his voice enough to speak.

"Do you regret coming yet?"

"I could do without the old stories." Jonny offers a crooked grin before he shrugs, his face more serious as he meets Patrick's eyes again. There's even more color in his cheeks, now that he's spent the last few minutes running around with the kids. "But I had a good day."

"Well, good."

Jonny nods. "And, uh—thanks for what you said earlier. About hockey and college. I'll keep thinking about that."

"Anytime."

A soft smile makes its way to Jonny's face, different from the one he had offered Seabs earlier. It's private, almost a little shy, and Patrick finds himself staring at the small moles around Jonny's lips, the flush spreading down his neck, disappearing underneath the soft fabric of his shirt. When he finally looks back into Jonny's eyes, he finds Jonny already gazing at him, his eyes weirdly dark and wide.

Somewhere, a dog starts barking, the loud deep noise echoing through the gardens and right through Patrick's body, yanking him out of whatever daze he's been in.

Jesus Christ, he needs to get a grip.

Crow saves him by joining them and babbling about how good the dessert is, and Patrick keeps nodding along until he can see out of the corner of his eyes that Jonny's cheeks are a little less pink now.

Between the mousse au chocolat and soufflé, Patrick forgets about the moment, but he makes sure to stick to Sharpy's side, forcing himself not to glance over to Jonny, until everyone gets ready to leave. It's late in the night already, the sun closer to rising than setting, small shadows dancing along Jonny's face as he follows David over to say goodbye.

"I guess I might see you around once in a while now?" Patrick asks, and Jonny starts smiling as he offers a shrug.

"I guess so."

There is a small moment of awkward silence where Patrick tries to figure out whether he should just grin and move on, but then Jonny makes the decision for him and walks straight into his chest, loosely wrapping an arm around Patrick's shoulders. The height difference feels even weirder now, and Patrick feels comically small as he hugs back before letting Jonny move away to kiss Andrée's cheek as she reaches for him.

When he pulls back, Jonny is still watching him.

Patrick really needs to get home and into bed.

-

He throws himself into his workouts after that. The reunion was a nice reminder of how good it feels to win a cup, and Patrick would really like to have that feeling again. At the same time, it was also a less pleasant reminder that he's not in his 20s anymore—he's depressingly close to his 40s—and there's only so many chances he's got left. Now he’s starting to get what it felt like for guys like Hoss and Timonen. At least he has the luxury of already having a few rings at home, but it still feels like time is slipping through his fingers, like he's chasing a cup that is destined for someone else instead. Gone are the times when he was too young and dumb to realize how difficult it really was to win that first cup, but he truly gets it now.

Patrick spends a week in Buffalo with his family and has dinner with the Sharps a couple of times once he's back in Chicago. Bryan and Andrée invite him over too, and Patrick has always been a sucker for Andrée's crêpes with fruit and rich chocolate syrup and powdered sugar on top. Neither Bryan nor Patrick should have so much syrup or sugar, but he's about to serve himself a third crêpe when Jonny and David burst through the front door, loudly arguing about some kind of soccer match.

"We would have won if he hadn't—" David interrupts himself as the front door falls shut, his eyes widening. "Hey, you didn't say we were having crêpes today."

Andrée rolls her eyes as she proceeds to pour syrup over Patrick's food. "I did," she says dryly. "And I told you to be back for dinner, but you insisted on staying out and eating later."

Jonny's eyes are lingering on Patrick while he takes his jacket off, slowly stepping into the living room. Suddenly, Patrick realizes he's awkwardly holding his fork and knife in his hands while waiting for Andrée to hand his plate back over, so he sets the cutlery down to take a sip of water instead. Jonny's still looking at him when he swallows the last gulp, but when Patrick meets his eyes, he abruptly tears his gaze away, a rosy color on his cheeks.

It must be from the wind outside or maybe the soccer match.

"I didn't know Patrick would be here," Jonny says while David is already running into the kitchen to grab plates for them.

He offers a grin, finally pulling a chair over to take a seat next to Patrick, leaving the space at Bryan's side for his brother.

"What were you guys up to?" Bryan asks while Andrée hands Patrick's plate back to serve each of her sons a crêpe.

David immediately starts talking about playing soccer with the neighborhood kids, about convincing Jonny to play with them for an hour, and there's a softness in Jonny's eyes while his brother keeps rambling that Patrick finds weirdly endearing.

"It's nice that you're hanging out with your brother," Andrée says when David interrupts his chatter to use the bathroom.

Jonny's ears turn pink, his eyes flickering over to Patrick for the tiniest second. "Maman, don't—"

He trails off when Bryan laughs. "He's just excited to have you around again."

Jonny huffs, but there's a small, soft smile on his lips as he ducks his head and swiftly changes the topic to compliment the food instead. He doesn’t look back at Patrick until they've finished their crêpes.

Patrick sticks around after dinner, and Jonny joins them on the couch where he's having a beer with Bryan, flopping down next to Patrick, his phone in his hand.

"Since when do you like to hang out with your father when we have guests over for dinner?" Bryan asks, one eyebrow raised, the corner of his mouth twitching.

Jonny rolls his eyes as he slowly pockets his phone, shrugging. He glances over to Patrick so briefly that Patrick thinks he would have imagined it if he hadn’t caught Bryan following his son's movement.

"David’s playing video games upstairs, and I got bored so I figured I'd join you." Jonny folds his arms across his chest, and it looks like there's something else he wants to say—something about the way he looks at his dad is almost defensive—but then he shrugs again, his shoulders sagging.

Bryan shakes his head but gets up with a sigh. "Do you guys want any snacks or drinks?"

"Can you get me a beer?" Jonny asks, an innocent smile on his face. "Please?"

Patrick laughs at the stern look Jonny receives in return, but Bryan sighs deeply and nods.

"Don't tell your mother."

"Thanks, dad," Jonny yells after him while Bryan is already leaving the living room, muttering something under his breath.

Next to Patrick, Jonny chuckles.

"My mom doesn't really mind," he says. He sounds amused, a smirk on his face, and Patrick can't help but laugh. He doesn't think Andrée and Bryan are very strict parents—not from what he's seen over the years.

"Have you settled in at home again?" Patrick asks, stretching out his legs. "Must be weird to be back for so long now."

"It is—and it's weird not knowing what's gonna come after," Jonny says slowly, shrugging. "But I'm glad I'm here. I know everyone is happy I'm back, and it's—it's just nice to have that again."

Patrick nods back. They both left home at roughly the same age, and he was around Jonny's age when he moved to London. It was a weird time, being old enough to live away from home but having been gone long enough that being back always felt weird, like coming back to something that wasn't quite home anymore.

"I know what it's like," he says, watching Jonny fiddle with one of the couch pillows. "It's tough to miss out on so much, no matter how strongly you feel that it's the right decision. And it's tough to put your parents through that and to be selfish like that."

"I guess it just feels a little like it was for nothing," Jonny says after a second of silence. "I don't regret leaving, and I'd do it again, but knowing that I did it for hockey and now giving up on hockey..." He trails off with a shrug. "It feels like being ungrateful after my family gave up so much for it."

It's hard to imagine that, if the circumstances had been different, this could have been Patrick. If he had made the decision not to return to London one day, he wouldn't have known how to tell his parents. He would have felt guilty, maybe for his entire life. Patrick remembers the crushing guilt of leaving home, the gut-wrenching feeling of seeing his mom in tears, the guilt when he wanted to go back immediately, the burning shame of needing a pep talk from his mom to go through with it.

But he also knows how proud Bryan has always been of Jonny, how much Andrée and Bryan have always supported him.

Patrick shrugs. "Do you really think your parents care about whether you're a hockey player or not?"

The corner of Jonny's mouth twitches as he turns his head, offering a soft grin. "Nah, I know they don't."

"They just missed you," Patrick adds. "And had a hard time letting you go so young. And I think that's normal. Just as it's normal for you to feel guilty now that you're reminded of it."

"Did you feel like that?" Jonny asks. "Guilty, I mean?"

"Yeah, of course. All the time. I felt guilty that I took attention away from my sisters, that my parents had a hard time letting me go, that being homesick made it even harder for them. There was always something that I missed, and it always felt like being the odd sibling out even though I've always been close to my sisters."

It's been so many years, he doesn't even think about his time in Detroit or London that much, but in a weird, twisted way, it's still cathartic to realize that someone is feeling the same way, that he isn't the only one. That what he says is actually enough to make Jonny feel a little better.

"I sometimes wonder what it would have been like if I hadn't left for school," Jonny says, staring at the stairs where Bryan disappeared to grab the snacks and beer. "David was so young, I sometimes feel like he grew up as an only child and that I missed out on being a big brother."

David is ten now, so he must have been around six when Jonny left. The age gap between Jonny and David is even bigger than the one between Patrick and Jackie, and those six years were always enough back then to make Patrick feel like his sister was partly a stranger. There was always something about the girls—a new hobby, a new interest or passion or dislike—that made him wonder why he wasn't aware of it when he returned home, that made him feel like he didn't fully know his sisters, but the feeling has always been most prominent with Jackie.

"Well, you're back now," he says after a short moment of silence. "Plenty of time to make up for the time you lost."

There's more he wants to say—that it must mean a lot to David that his brother is playing soccer with him and his friends, that Jonny is around now and makes an effort to spend time together, that his parents are happy that he's back home—but Bryan gets back from the basement, three bottles of beer and a tray with chips and crackers in his hands, and Patrick trails off.

Still, Jonny shoots him an open, grateful smile, and he smiles back helplessly before Bryan sets the tray down and passes the beers around.

-

Patrick ends up staying until it's well after midnight, and he's ready to pass out by the time he lets himself into his condo, dropping his keys into the small bowl his mom got for his hallway dresser the last time she stayed in Chicago for a few days, fed up with his chaos.

His phone shows a text from Bryan that he absently opens as he gets out of his coat. It's just a picture, a wallet on Bryan and Andrée's coffee table. It looks very familiar, and Patrick instinctively reaches for his back pocket only to find it empty.

He sighs to himself. At least he doesn't have to run back down to his car to check if it fell out of his pocket down there.

They have the day off tomorrow—another day to rest before they really start the season—and there's no way he's going to drive back now only to grab his wallet. He can survive a few days without it if Bryan just brings it to the rink next time they're there.

He lets Bryan know, waits for the thumbs-up emoji he receives in return before finally collapsing into bed, wondering when he got so old that hanging out with a friend longer than expected makes him grateful to have the next day off.

-

He enjoys his off-day by allowing himself to sleep in, spends his entire morning curled up on the couch, a cup of coffee on the table in front of him, hockey highlights playing in the background while he scrolls through a bunch of newspaper articles on his iPad. Patrick’s busy cleaning his salad bowl after lunch, debating whether he should empty the dishwasher or just leave the dirty dishes in the sink and deal with them later when the doorbell rings.

Patrick isn't expecting anyone, and he has no clue who it could be, but it's a welcome excuse to abandon his half-cleaned salad bowl, and he absently wipes his hands on his shorts before opening the door.

He doesn't know who he expects to see, but it's not—

"Jonny?" Patrick blurts out.

Jonny flinches as if he didn't expect Patrick to actually open the door, and for a moment it seems like he's about to take a step back, but then his lips stretch into a hesitant, soft grin.

"Hi." He's holding Patrick's wallet, awkwardly waving it around. "Uh—dad mentioned you forgot this yesterday, and I know you said you don't need it right now, but—" He shrugs. "I was around so I figured I could just bring it over. Sorry if that was—I probably should have texted to let you know, but—"

"No, no, it's fine," Patrick interrupts, grabbing the wallet. Neither his shorts nor the shirt he's wearing have any pockets, so he ends up holding it in his hand, tentatively drumming his fingers along the soft leather. "Thanks. You didn't have to."

Some of the tension is leaving Jonny's shoulders, his smile less hesitant now.

"Sure, no problem."

For a short moment, they are both silent, then Patrick forces a casual grin to his face.

"So, uh, are you heading somewhere, or—"

He trails off when Jonny shakes his head. "Just home," he says, the words coming out a little rushed.

"Did you wanna come in?" The words have left his mouth before he can think about whether this is a good idea, but he's met with a grin and steps aside to let Jonny in.

Patrick's not even sure if Jonny has ever been to his place. David has been over with his parents a few times, but Patrick can’t recall Jonny ever coming here.

Suddenly, Patrick regrets that he didn't take his time to clean his kitchen. There is a huge pile of mail and documents on both the kitchen island and the coffee table, and Patrick could have at least pretended to be an organized adult who has their life together. He puts his wallet into the top drawer of his hallway dresser where it belongs and leads Jonny into the kitchen, determined to ignore the chaos.

"Do you want something to drink?" he asks, pretending not to realize that Jonny is curiously scanning the titles of a bunch of magazines Patrick has lying around on the kitchen counter.

"Water is fine," Jonny says, taking a seat at the kitchen island while Patrick grabs two glasses from the cupboard, sliding one of them over.

Jonny's stopped looking around to watch Patrick instead while he grabs a bottle of water, and he looks comfortable now, like he's been here a million times.

It's funny. He looks young with his smooth skin, some baby fat around his cheeks, but his eyes are so dark that they give him a serious, mature look, and he carries himself with an easy confidence Patrick probably didn't even have when he was in his late 20s. It's unsettling, makes Patrick feel nervous and small in his presence, and in a very weird way, Jonny is a fascinating paradox—an awkward, shy teenager and confident young man at the same time.

"How's your decision about college going?" Patrick asks into the silence, barely managing to bite back a grin at the exasperated groan leaving Jonny's lips.

He shrugs helplessly. "I'm just going to stay home for now."

"Any plans yet?"

Another grimace. "Please don't give me a lecture that I need to find something else to do while I'm not studying. I get that often enough from my parents."

"I wasn't going to," Patrick says, smiling at Jonny's unamused frown.

It's not his place to tell Jonny what to do or to act like a parent around him.

"I should probably do an internship," Jonny adds. "I could do one with the Hawks, and my dad thinks it's an amazing opportunity and that I should definitely do it."

"And what do you think?"

Jonny huffs. "He's right, of course. They would let me see different departments—marketing, communications, financing, that kind of stuff. I could see what I'm interested in, and it might give me an idea of what I'd like to major in."

"That sounds good."

And, even for people who don't care about hockey—an internship with the Chicago Blackhawks looks good on any CV.

"Yeah but—" Jonny shakes his head, folding his arms across his chest. "Everyone would know I only got it because of my dad."

"And that's why you don't want to do it?"

"My dad says I'm being an idiot." Jonny shrugs. "But I'm not sure if I should do it. People would look at my name and know immediately that I never would have gotten it without him."

"I hate to break it to you," Patrick says slowly. "But your dad has a point."

Something between a sigh and a huff comes from Jonny's mouth.

"No, Jonny, seriously," Patrick adds. "It might be an opportunity you wouldn't get without your dad, but many people get jobs because they have connections. It's nothing unusual, it happens all the time. That alone isn’t a good enough reason not to take it."

"It's not the same," Jonny protests, and Patrick gets it. Bryan's a future Hall of Famer, a future number in the rafters at the UC. That's a hell of a last name to carry around, and Patrick probably can't begin to imagine how often Jonny has to answer questions about his dad, especially in Chicago and Canada, even after deciding not to pursue a career on the ice himself.

"It's just an internship," he says while Jonny takes a sip of water, his eyes still focused on Patrick. "And I'm not trying to lecture you or tell you what to do, but if you want to hear my opinion, I think you should take it. Especially if you think you'd enjoy it."

"Well—" Jonny sets his water glass back down, letting out a soft sigh. "I am still thinking about it, and I haven't said no yet."

"Don't," Patrick says. "Seriously, I think you should take it."

Jonny looks at him for a second, something open and vulnerable in his eyes while he nods, lowering his gaze.

"Thanks," he says softly. It sounds like he means more than just the somewhat unsolicited advice, and Patrick nods back when Jonny starts grinning again. He nods to one of the magazines, making a soft noise. "I didn't know you golfed. Are you any good?"

Patrick happily lets him get away with the change of topic, and they end up talking about golf and then hockey and eventually about Jonny's last semester at college and his time in Shattuck and Patrick's week in Buffalo and the show he binge-watched when he wasn't out golfing. They move over to the couch eventually without interrupting their debate about TV shows and movies—it takes a few seconds to remember that Jonny was a literal child when _Breaking Bad_ aired, but it's still hard to believe that he's never seen it, that he doesn't even know what the show's about.

"I'm gonna make you watch it," Patrick announces, and maybe that sounds like more of a threat than intended because Jonny makes a face, rolling his eyes as he slumps down on Patrick's sofa.

Jonny opens his mouth to answer, but his stomach growls loudly before he can get a word out, his cheeks turning pink. Patrick's eyes snap over to the clock on the wall, and he winces when he realizes how long Jonny's been here. He hadn't realized how much time had passed.

"Are you hungry?" he asks. "I don't have a lot of food here right now, but we could order pizza?"

He was planning on ordering take-out anyway, and a part of him is telling himself that it would be rude to kick Jonny out and force him to leave without offering something to eat while another, probably bigger, part of himself selfishly doesn't want the conversation to end here.

"Pizza sounds good," Jonny says a little sheepishly, and Patrick grins back while he grabs his phone to order.

The pizza arrives surprisingly quickly, and Jonny actually tries to pay for his when Patrick gets back from the front door and sets the two boxes down on the coffee table.

"Jesus Christ, don't even think about it," Patrick blurts out when he realizes what Jonny is reaching for. Even if Jonny hadn't gone out of his way to bring Patrick's wallet over, he sure as hell isn't going to demand that a teenager pays him back for a pizza.

"Oh," Jonny makes, slowly opening one of the boxes. "Thanks."

Patrick smiles back, slumping down on the couch again, relieved that the conversation carries on like usual after that. It's surprising how much it feels like hanging out with one of the guys, how easy it is to be around Jonny, how comfortable his presence is. It only occurs to him long after they've finished eating their pizzas that it's late enough for Jonny's parents to be wondering where he is, but he can't bring himself to ask so Patrick's just going to assume that Jonny must have texted them at some point.

But he finds himself yawning eventually, and Jonny interrupts himself, his eyes catching on the clock at the wall. Maybe Patrick's already tired enough to hallucinate, or there's a disappointed look in Jonny's eyes.

"I should probably leave. Sorry, I didn't mean to mess with your schedule."

"It's fine. I barely have a schedule anyway at this point." But Patrick does have to get up early tomorrow, and he might have been able to make up for the lack of sleep when he was in his early 20s, but he can't ignore his bedtime anymore and pretend that it won't affect his performance on the ice. "And—sorry for kicking you out," he adds. "But I'm about to fall asleep on you."

"No, right," Jonny says, the words coming out a little rushed, his face softening. "I had a good time. So, thank you."

"Sure. Me too."

Jonny hums while he stretches his arms above his head and yawns into his biceps. His shirt rides up in the process, exposing his smooth skin and a small trail of dark hair disappearing underneath the waistband of his pants. Patrick flinches like he's been burned and tears his eyes away so quickly he's scared he might break his own neck in the process. He should not be noticing any of that about an 18-year old boy.

Patrick clears his throat, keeping his eyes locked onto the floor until he's sure that Jonny is done stretching before he gets up to walk Jonny to the door, fiddling with the hem of his shirt while Jonny ties his shoes and puts his jacket back on.

This time, Patrick is prepared for it when Jonny hugs him. He smells different than last time, fresher. He must have used cologne in the morning, and the scent is pleasantly faint and fresh, a little like the crisp smell of a rink.

It lingers in Patrick's nostrils after he forces himself to take a step back.

"Thank you for the pizza," Jonny says, a smile on his lips.

"Any time." Patrick fails at biting back another yawn, and something in Jonny's face softens when he takes a step outside of the condo.

"I'm gonna let you sleep."

Patrick really is ready to pass out and very grateful Jonny doesn't tease him about it—he feels old enough around Jonny already.


	2. Chapter Two

Patrick doesn't hear from Jonny for a while. Not that he's expecting it.

He's settled back into an easy rhythm of practice and regeneration. The entire team is back together now, and it's good to get into work mode, the season quickly approaching. He’s feeling good—no injuries bugging him, nothing that makes him anything but eager to finally start playing for real. A few times he finds himself wondering if Jonny has made a decision on his internship yet, and Patrick almost has to keep himself from looking out for Jonny whenever he's entering the rink.

As if an intern would just walk through the locker room.

A few times he considers asking Bryan, but it feels weird to interrogate him about his son, so Patrick keeps his mouth shut and wonders silently.

But then he suddenly does end up stumbling into Jonny at the rink. He got here at an odd time so he didn't expect anyone to be around and was hoping for some quiet time on his own instead, but there is a lone person shooting pucks at the goal when Patrick gets on the ice, his lips spreading into a smile when he spots the name on the jersey. It hadn't occurred to him but of course Jonny would want to skate occasionally while he's in Chicago.

Jonny is engrossed in his shooting, all his focus on the pucks in front of him. The first four hit the crossbar neatly, clinking sounds filling the rink. The fifth goes wide, and Jonny bangs his stick on the ice, aims again, and hits the crossbar again with his sixth shot. He still hasn't seen Patrick when he raises his arms and lets out a small "woo", his head falling back.

Patrick's stomach does a flippy thing.

Jonny's really good. He makes it look effortless.

"Not bad," Patrick says, finally stepping on the ice. The buzzing of the machines is the only sound in the empty building, and he can hear the smooth sound of his blades on the ice as he approaches Jonny.

The sound of Patrick's voice startles him, he almost loses his balance as he swirls around, visibly flinching.

"Jesus," Jonny chokes out. His cheeks are red. Patrick's not sure if he's embarrassed that Patrick saw his small, private celly or if he's been skating hard. "You scared me."

"Sorry." Patrick laughs softly, stops by one of the pucks, and showers it with snow. "I didn't mean to give you a heart attack."

He passes the puck, and it lands smoothly on Jonny's blade without them having to break eye contact. Jonny grins while Patrick skates closer until he reaches Jonny at the blue line, and Patrick nods to the other goal, the one at the far end.

"Think you can hit that one too?"

Jonny shrugs like it's one of his easiest tasks. He dangles the puck on his blade, bends down, and looks up, and, after a second of aiming, neatly hits the crossbar.

"Your turn," Jonny says casually as if that wasn't an impressive shot he effortlessly pulled off. But there's a glint in his eyes that lets Patrick know that Jonny is perfectly aware.

Patrick ends up missing because of course.

He doesn't turn his head, but he knows there's a smirk on Jonny's face. Jesus Christ, Patrick's not losing against a teenager here. Except for how he totally is because his second attempt lands inside the goal, and he has to let a grinning Jonny pass him another puck for the third attempt.

He's feeling more relieved than smug when the familiar metallic sound echoes through the building.

"I am not warmed up."

He startles a laugh out of Jonny's throat. "Sure."

Patrick's brain refuses to come up with a smarter excuse, so he settles on a casual shrug while he looks at Jonny who's already watching him, his chin braced on the end of his stick.

"You're really good," Patrick says.

Now, Jonny is definitely blushing. He grabs another puck, aimlessly pushes it around before sending it down the ice. The net bulges when the rubber smashes into it and flops down on the ice with an obnoxious noise.

"It's not too late to turn pro, you know?" Patrick jokes. "You're good enough."

"I know," Jonny says with a shrug. It's not cocky or even arrogant, just a plain statement filled with the confidence Jonny's very clearly allowed to have.

"The Hawks could use another forward, and red would look good on you."

Jonny laughs softly, shaking his head. He ducks his head and turns away to grab another puck and bounces it on the blade of his stick a few times, lazily skating a circle around Patrick. He catches it with his hand on the last bounce and makes a soft noise.

"Sorry, am I blocking the ice for you or something?"

"No, not at all." The words come out in a bit of a rush. "How about we play one on one for a while?"

Instead of answering, Jonny drops the puck and attempts to take a shot at the goal, and it's the pure instinct of over 1000 games played in the league that allows Patrick to poke check the puck away in time.

"Cheating doesn't count, Jonny," he yells as they both make a beeline for the corner to chase the puck. Patrick gets there first, but Jonny crowds him against the boards, his entire body suddenly pressed against Patrick's back, boxing him in, laughing right into his ear.

"If you're not cheating, are you really trying?"

Patrick bites back a grin. He ducks his head, quickly kicks the puck along the boards, does a twirl that would make Adam Rippon jealous to get away from Jonny's grip, and easily picks the rubber disk back up, nudging it over the goal line before Jonny has time to react and catch up.

He does a very obnoxious heartbreaker celly to mess with Jonny, and if the eye roll is any indication, he's succeeding. Jonny collects the puck, skates a lap around the faceoff circle, and when Patrick moves to meet him, there's a burning fire in his eyes, a stern fierceness that tells him that it's on now. Patrick grins back, but that only earns him another glare.

Jonny plays a lot like Bryan does. Or rather—the way Bryan used to play, back in the day when he was younger and eager to prove himself, throwing himself into every battle, never backing down. Jonny's a strong skater and has good hands, and he makes a few nice moves that catch Patrick by surprise despite knowing by now how good Jonny is. But he has over a decade of experience on Jonny, a very unfamiliar physical advantage, and he has figured out how to read Jonny's play after only a few minutes. It's not an even match but a surprisingly good one nonetheless.

They play until Jonny's panting, and Patrick's grateful for a quick water break as well. Jonny's taken his helmet off, and there's a red mark on his forehead, his cheeks are flushed, and he's got water splashed all over his face. His lips are stretched into a big grin and he just looks—happy. He radiates a cheerful energy, his face so bright that it's impossible not to be affected by it.

Patrick bumps into him and laughs at how easy Jonny tumbles.

"I know you're not going pro but still—be a little smarter with your shots there, yeah? You've got great hands. Shoot it when the net is open, 9 out of 10 times you're gonna hit it. Don't wait until you're right in the slot."

Jonny takes the last sip of his water, looks at the open ice next to them, and nods.

"Yeah, makes sense."

"Great game," Patrick says, nudging his shoulder again. "Are you gonna stay here for a little longer?"

"Are you leaving?"

"Yeah." There's a spark of something in Jonny's eyes—disappointment, maybe? Patrick shakes his head to himself. "I just meant to skate a few laps and get on the ice for a little while. I should be resting in the evening."

"I've been here for a while now." Jonny shrugs. "I'll just head out, too."

"Do you need a ride back home?"

"Oh—yeah. I mean—you don't have to but that would be great."

"Sure, no problem."

Patrick kind of hates how much he likes that bright smile on Jonny's face.

-

They meet each other in the parking lot since they're using different locker rooms, and Patrick's very relieved he doesn't have to navigate showering at the same time. The relief floating through his body at that realization is very unsettling. So, he stays under the spray longer than necessary, turns the water a little colder, and takes a deep breath.

Jonny's hair is still damp when they meet up, his cheeks flushed, and he starts grinning again when Patrick walks up to him.

"Are you hungry?" Patrick asks while Jonny throws his duffel back in the backseat. "We can stop somewhere to grab food."

Maybe part of him is just looking for excuses to have Jonny's company a little longer. It wouldn't take very long to get to Jonny's parents' house, and, in his defense, Patrick is actually pretty hungry and he'd have to stop by the grocery store anyway.

Jonny nods. "I could eat."

"Portillo's is on the way if that's okay."

"Oh yeah, sure." Jonny grins, leaning back in the seat as they pull out of the parking lot, the conversation coming to them as easy as the last time.

They barely manage to interrupt themselves to order their food—Italian Beef for each of them, and Jonny orders a Chocolate Cake Milkshake that Patrick has to talk himself out of. He's been slacking with his diet lately and can't afford the extra cheat day, even if it's been forever since he last had a good milkshake. It looks tempting though, and his eyes linger on the menu for a few more seconds so that when he finally makes himself tear his gaze away, Jonny has already pulled out his wallet and is paying for both their orders.

Patrick almost falls into the counter in front of them.

"C'mon, don't be stupid," he says while Jonny's punching his pin number into the machine. "You don't have to—"

"I want to," Jonny interrupts, shrugging. He pockets his wallet and nods at the cashier, waiting for Patrick to follow him as he moves away from the short line behind them. "I can afford lunch at Portillo's, you know?" Jonny adds on their way to a table in the corner. He sounds almost a little insulted. "You paid for my pizza, so it's my turn now."

He says it with such certainty as if this is a thing. As if they're hanging out regularly and there's a mutual agreement that they'll take turns paying the bill. As if they're—

Patrick bites his lip to keep himself from saying something very dumb.

Dating, a voice at the back of his head says. As if they're dating.

Patrick inhales to steady himself. He can't even—what the fuck is wrong with him for even letting that kind of thought cross his mind? Of course, they’re not dating. There's no need to point that out. Jonny is a teenager. He's not—there's just no way Patrick would ever be into him.

They've reached an empty table, and Patrick slowly takes off his jacket and puts his phone on the table, carefully avoiding Jonny's eyes until they're both seated. He can feel Jonny watching him even before he lifts his head.

"You shouldn't be paying for my food," he insists.

Jonny huffs, shaking his head. "But I want to. Can you just let it go? Please?"

Patrick shouldn't let it go. Even if Patrick's mind didn’t give him crazy, stupid ideas about what this means, Bryan would strangle him if he found out that his son is inviting Patrick to dinner. But Jonny's giving him the same look he got earlier on the ice—the one that says that he's not willing to back down, a stern glare that makes Patrick unable to hold Jonny's gaze. Patrick never realized how dark his eyes can get, like they're only pupils and nothing else. How piercing his gaze is. It feels like Jonny's trying to stare right through Patrick, to figure out what he's thinking just by watching and shamelessly studying him. No kid should have mastered such a stare yet.

If letting this topic go means that he'll have to let a teenager pay for his lunch, Patrick will bite the bullet.

He nods, Jonny's shoulders dropping in response as he gives a tiny nod back, the hint of a smile on his face. Patrick's smiling back before he knows it, flinching when the moment is interrupted by their number being called, Jonny moving to grab their food before Patrick can react.

His palms are weirdly sweaty while he’s waiting for Jonny to return.

He breathes in—the rich smell of Jonny's milkshake and the scent of roasted bread and fries—and out again. He slowly unwraps the Italian Beef sandwich and takes a sip from his drink, self-conscious suddenly that his lips are wrapped around the straw, that his cheeks are hollowed as he sucks the cold liquid into his mouth. And Jonny watches him, his own food untouched on the table between them. At least that's what it seems like out of the corner of his eye because Patrick couldn't lift his head to look at him if he tried.

Finally, Jonny nods back, exhaling quietly, shifting his attention to his food. It makes breathing a lot easier when Patrick doesn't feel trapped in his seat.

"My dad used to take me to Portillo's when I was a kid," Jonny says, pushing a French fry into his mouth. "I missed coming here. It tastes like childhood."

Patrick laughs at the dreamy expression on Jonny's face when he takes a sip from his milkshake, grateful for the change of topic,

"You don't miss college yet?"

"A little." Jonny shrugs. "But I didn't realize how much I missed Chicago until I got back. We've always spent a lot of time in Canada when I was visiting home, and it's nice to be around my grandparents, but I grew up here. I think I forgot that Chicago is always gonna be my home."

Chicago became Patrick's home the moment his name was called on that stage in Columbus all those years ago. He didn't know it at the time—he barely let himself hope—but it's always been Chicago since then, and it's hard to imagine living somewhere else now, even after it's time to move on from the Hawks. But still, despite moving out so early, there's something about Buffalo that not even Chicago will ever come close to. A sense of security and belonging. His perception may be warped by nostalgia, but there's something special about leaving the Buffalo Airport and letting the familiarity of home wrap itself around him.

"I think your dad is excited about having you here again."

"Yeah?" Jonny laughs. "Did he say that?"

"He told me at the reunion."

Another chuckle leaves Jonny's lips. He looks so fond, a glint in his eyes as he looks over.

"My grandmother says it's payback for when he left home early."

"Well, she has a point."

"Yeah." An even softer look makes its way to Jonny's eyes. "I'm lucky. They did a lot for me, and I'm not sure if I appreciated that at the time." He takes a bite of his sandwich, wiping his fingers at a paper napkin after setting it back down, offering some sort of half-shrug. "And—I actually decided to take the internship."

"Oh yeah?"

Jonny shrugs again. "I've been thinking about it, and I guess—you were right. And I'm starting to get a little bored, and the more I thought about it, the more I wanted to take the opportunity. I'm really excited now."

Patrick grins. Jonny doesn't seem like the kind of guy to sit home for several weeks without needing some kind of task at his hands, even if the break to get his head straight and think about a few things might have been good for him.

"Sounds like the right call to me. Am I gonna see you around at work then?"

"I don't know, maybe." Jonny scrunches his nose. "I was hoping not to run into my dad too much. But I might try to get on the ice a few times if I can manage it."

"Let me know if you want to skate again sometime."

The words are leaving Patrick's mouth before he's thought about what he's offering but—well, it was fun, and time passed a little too quickly, so why not repeat that? It's just him hanging out with the son of one of his buddies, shooting a few pucks, messing around on the ice. No harm done. Jonny probably spends time with guys like Seabs the time. Just because they've never really talked much before doesn't mean they can't build some kind of relationship now. All the Blackhawks babies that were born after Jonny grew up with about twenty men that were happy to babysit and compete for the title of favorite uncle. Except that thinking about how he could suddenly be Uncle Patrick for Jonny—ugh.

"Yeah?" Jonny asks, his voice full of hope. "I'd like that."

Patrick grins back, hoping it looks casual, like it's no big deal. Which it isn't, he reminds himself. There's absolutely nothing to it and no reason for his chest to feel so weirdly tight suddenly.

"Sure. I might be busy with the season starting so soon, but I can always just hang around after practice if you're ever around."

He should suggest that Bryan can join them, maybe David even, but he keeps his mouth shut, watching Jonny's grin as if Patrick promised to bring the Stanley Cup with him.

"Sounds good," Jonny says softly.

Patrick hums, the silence between them stretching on long enough to be uncomfortable. "So, are you feeling better about taking the semester off now?"

"Yeah, for sure." Jonny shrugs. "After quitting hockey, I was thinking maybe I can still pursue a career in hockey after graduation. It's probably not very realistic but maybe I could work in management or marketing or something like that. That could be cool."

"Why would it not be realistic?"

"Well, there's only so many jobs, eh?" Jonny offers a crooked grin. "I don't know, it's just a thought. Or a dumb dream I guess."

Patrick's about to say something incredibly cheesy like some dreams do come true, but he manages to bite it back.

Instead, he shrugs, aiming for a casual tone. "You don't know how many people told me I'd never make the NHL and that it was naïve of me to think I could do it. I don't think it's dumb to have dreams and goals."

He watches Jonny rearrange the beef on his sandwich, slowly reaching for a fry, clearly avoiding Patrick's gaze.

"Are you any good at school?"

Now, Jonny gives a half-shrug. "I'm doing okay."

Patrick would bet a good amount of money that it's an understatement. Jonny seems like the type of guy to be good at almost everything he does—sports, school, and whatever else he might set his mind to. He also seems like the type of guy to be modest about it.

When Jonny looks back up, he's looking less shy again. "It must have been hard to constantly hear you're not good enough."

"It wasn't even that," Patrick answers slowly. "I would go out and prove them wrong, but they kept insisting that it wouldn't translate to the next level. And when it did, they kept saying that I would fail at the level after that. I never did but no matter what I was doing, it was never good enough for them. That's what bothered me. I was already proving them wrong, but they refused to acknowledge it."

Why is he telling Jonny all this? He is barely older now than Patrick was back then. But his eyes are so soft, so understanding. Patrick just wants to keep going. And a part of him will always be upset about it. Even now, after 20 years, the memory gets him riled up too easily.

"Did you ever think about quitting?"

"A couple of times. But it was never serious. I don't know, I just wanted to play. Quitting or not succeeding wasn't an option."

"Did you have a plan B?"

"No, never. I probably would have helped with my dad's car dealership if hockey hadn't worked out. School was never my thing. I might have enjoyed college, but I'm not sure if I would have had the motivation to go back then."

"You're smart though." Jonny licks some sauce off his thumb, the movement just as casual as his tone.

Patrick laughs to hide the stupid thing his face must do, but the noise is probably coming out nervous and high-pitched.

"Thanks."

"I think it's cool you believed in yourself even though no one else did," Jonny adds, so fucking earnest and serious. "And—it paid off, eh?"

"Yeah—" Patrick says, his voice cracking. "Yeah, I guess it did."

Jonny's still watching him, and it's unsettling that he manages to make Patrick so jittery, so scared of saying something stupid or looking dumb. No teenager should have that effect on him, and he's not sure why he's suddenly feeling so small and insecure. Jonny shouldn't even care. Patrick's a guy in his mid-30s, Jonny should find his youth as interesting as a goldfish. The fact that he doesn't—it's a little unsettling. Patrick's not sure what to make of that.

Jonny hums, taking another bite of his sandwich, and then moves on as if Patrick can't feel that his cheeks are a bright red, that he must look like he doesn't know what to do with himself with Jonny's attention focused on him. How pathetic is it that a literal teenager manages to make him feel so uneasy?

Jonny starts talking about the upcoming season, about the roster moves the Hawks have made and a few big names that were moved across the league, and breathing gets a little easier when it doesn't feel like he’s cross-examining Patrick anymore. His eyes are shining as he talks, and he's rambling a little, eagerly nodding along to what Patrick's saying. He's clearly still watching a lot of hockey—he's keeping up with what's happening, not only with the Hawks or in the NHL but with the hockey world in general, and Jonny knows what he's talking about. It's fascinating to see the excitement and passion that he has just talking about hockey, knowing that he's voluntarily giving up on what's looking like a promising career. But maybe—maybe Jonny isn't giving hockey up despite being passionate about it. Maybe it is because of his love for the game, maybe he's scared that making it his career could make him lose it.

"I think it's gonna be an exciting season," he ends once they've both finished their sandwiches and the fries they shared. "And it's gonna be fun to watch. I'm rooting for you."

There's a weird emphasis on the ‘you’, almost as if there's something underlying he's trying to say. As if he's not talking about the Hawks or the team but—

Patrick nods, clearing his throat as he looks at the empty containers and wrappers in front of them.

"Are you done?"

Jonny empties the rest of his drink with one last gulp, adam's apple working as he swallows, the long line of his throat tipped back like he's taking a shot, and he chases one last drop of liquid with his tongue.

Patrick definitely should not be fucking watching that. He flinches when Jonny crumples up one of the paper napkins and tosses it to the rest of the wrappers.

"Yes." Jonny nods, and they get up in silent agreement, get rid of their trash, and leave the restaurant. Jonny takes a sip from his milkshake as he climbs into the car, and then wordlessly hands the cup over.

It's still cold, tiny water drops running down the paper, and there's still a good amount of milkshake left.

"Huh?" Patrick makes, furrowing his brow.

"You can have the rest," Jonny says, looking a little sheepish. His cheeks are red, a hint of hesitation in his eyes. He won't quite meet Patrick's eyes either and is suddenly very focused on buckling himself up before making a soft noise. "I saw you looking longingly at mine while we were eating."

Patrick—he hadn't realized he was doing that. And he had no idea Jonny was observant enough that he would notice stuff like that. Fuck, what if there is more Patrick's been subconsciously doing that Jonny caught?

He inhales, suddenly feeling warm despite the cold milkshake Jonny shoved into his hand.

"Thanks."

He earns a soft, private smile while Jonny relaxes into his seat. "You're welcome."

"Are you sure you don't want me to pay you—"

"Yes," Jonny interrupts with an exasperated sigh. There is a spark of mischief in his eyes.

Patrick's learning to read his facial expressions to decode the dry, deadpan tone Jonny likes to use when he's not talking about hockey, unable to hide his enthusiasm. The clue is to look for the small hints, the way his eyes shine with delight, or the twitching at the corner of his mouth.

"Fine," Patrick says reluctantly. He's clearly not going to win this fight, no matter how many times he brings it up. It leaves a nagging feeling of guilt to let Bryan's son pay for his dinner, but the milkshake tastes heavenly sweet and rich, and Jonny looks very happy with himself when Patrick lets out an appreciative hum. "Thank you."

"You're welcome."

It sounds a little teasing but soft, and Patrick finds himself grinning while they go back to their conversation. Jonny tells him about last semester's classes and laughs about every single one of Patrick's stupid stories about roadtrips from ten years ago, and it's still so, so easy that Patrick finds himself surprised by how quickly they reach Jonny's neighborhood.

"I had fun playing with you," Jonny says when Patrick pulls up in front of his parents' house. He doesn't make a move to get out of the car yet, and Patrick doesn't mind much if he's being honest with himself.

"It was good to see I can still keep up with the kids."

The way Jonny laughs, with his whole body—head thrown back in laughter, his nose scrunching up—is so fucking charming. Now that Patrick has started noticing these things, he can't seem to stop.

"As if you don't play with people my age who are way better than me all the time," Jonny says.

Patrick means to point out that it's not the same. It obviously isn't because they are all guys that dedicate their life to hockey, that put way more time and effort into it than Jonny, but if he's honest with himself, it isn't the same because it's been more fun with Jonny.

Patrick shrugs. "You could be as good as them if you wanted to."

A flush creeps out from under the neckline of Jonny's shirt, along his throat, and into his cheeks. It's mesmerizing to watch, and Patrick finds himself unable to tear his eyes away. He wants to lean in and press closer, wants to close the space between them and get his hands on Jonny's broad shoulders.

Jonny inhales, his eyes drop down to Patrick's lips, and Patrick realizes he has been licking them when Jonny's eyes darken. He's never met someone with eyes as dark and intense as Jonny's. It's like he's always looking straight inside of Patrick, like Patrick's unable to hide anything from Jonny's gaze.

Jonny parts his lips, and Patrick's brain goes blank.

It's like he's back in middle school and on his first date, when his mom dropped him off at the mall, so he could have burgers with Nicole Johnson from his chem class, when they waited in the parking lot to be picked up, when Patrick spent the entire time wondering if she was waiting for him to finally kiss her.

There is no way he's reading this situation wrong, no doubt that Jonny is waiting for him to make a move. And he wants to so, so badly. It would be so easy to just let it happen. Jonny's still looking at him—his eyes focused on Patrick's lips—and he seems as dazed as Patrick's feeling. If Patrick just leans forward a little, just a few inches—

He catches a glimpse of the house behind Jonny, the house that Jonny's parents are living in, two of Patrick's closest friends. What the fuck is he thinking? Anyone could walk by—neighbors, Jonny's brother, or parents—and even if they were out of sight, Jonny is a teenager. Even worse, he's Patrick's teammate's son. Jonny might not have been subtle today about his crush, but it can never be more than that. A stupid crush, just like a teenager who's into their high school teacher. Nothing that could—or will—ever go anywhere. Patrick can't take advantage of him like that. He's the adult, the one who's supposed to be the responsible one, and he needs to start fucking acting like that.

He turns his head and clears his throat, shocked at how raw and vulnerable he feels when he shifts in his seat to put some space between them, watching Jonny flinch as if Patrick straight up pushed him away.

"I think—" Patrick winces. He sounds as if he just woke up, his voice rough and dark. "I think your parents are waiting for you."

The vulnerable, raw hope and want vanishes from Jonny's face in an instant, his face more casual now, whatever emotions that were there seconds ago gone. Patrick swallows, but can't bring himself to fake a smile when Jonny reaches behind himself to grab his duffel bag. His movements are slow and careful, almost as if he's waiting for something.

Patrick clears his throat again.

"Good luck with that internship," he adds to fill the silence. "Let me know how you like it."

For a moment, he expects Jonny to either wordlessly walk away or to just lean in and kiss him, but then Jonny shrugs. His face is still blank, and it's impossible to figure out what he's thinking.

"Oh yeah. Thanks for, you know, the pep talk."

"Any time, Jonny. Thanks for lunch."

Jonny smirks. "Any time, Patrick."

Despite the tension in the car, Patrick can't help but grin back.

"And thanks for the ride," Jonny adds as he pushes the car door open. He sounds casual, like nothing just happened, and it almost makes Patrick second-guess himself, that he must have been reading the entire situation stupidly wrong. "I'll see you around."

Patrick should make sure that he doesn't see Jonny anymore, but he's already nodding. "Sure."

He means to leave and get the hell away from the Toews' house, but David comes running out of the house before Patrick can drive off, and he's saying something that makes Jonny laugh and pull him into a headlock, dragging a screaming and giggling David with him.

Patrick should have left already, nothing is keeping him here anymore, but he's still staring when Jonny releases David from his grip and turns back. Even from the distance, Patrick can see the familiar intensity in Jonny's eyes again, and it makes him shiver and swallow. His body must have a delayed reaction because his heart is suddenly hammering against his ribcage when Jonny finally turns and closes the door behind him.

There is absolutely nothing about this that he could be reading wrong. No doubt left.

Patrick inhales and takes a sip from the milkshake Jonny left for him before he feels ready to pull back onto the road.

-

He gets home and takes another shower and definitely doesn't freak out under the spray. If Jonny was at least less obvious about his crush on Patrick. Before today, Patrick was able to brush it off as himself being dumb. He somehow managed to ignore the small moments that felt like Jonny was watching him and when he caught himself looking back. But Jonny didn't even bother being subtle today. He's not the first kid to have a crush on an older guy, but he's so unapologetic about it, so sure and confident. Patrick should be able to laugh and shrug it off. It shouldn't affect him. Yet, here he is.

He doesn't even know Jonny. Before the reunion, he couldn't have come up with more than ten facts about Jonny, and they have only seen each other a handful of times since. But, a voice helpfully chimes in from the back of his mind, they've gotten to know each other. It feels like Patrick knows so much about him now.

Jonny is a big family guy and really protective of his younger brother. He considers Chicago his home but prefers the nature of his parents' cabin in Canada. He loves hockey so much that he doesn't want it to be his profession. He's not great with numbers but ambitious and diligent enough to get good marks in his finance classes. He's confident that he can achieve anything if only he tries hard enough. He's way too competitive, and he's kind of a sore loser but would always rather celebrate someone else's success than his own. He's a little awkward but incredibly charming. He expects a lot from the people around him but twice as much from himself. He has a dry sense of humor that's really endearing. He's never the loudest and most vocal guy, but when he says something, it matters.

And he's fascinating. He makes Patrick want to learn more, to push and see how far he can go. He makes Patrick want to have things that he never should be longing for. The worst thing is knowing that it's not just him, that Jonny would have let Patrick kiss him. That's what makes it so fucking tempting. He's the adult, he knows better, he's supposed to be the responsible one.

Fuck. Patrick turns the water as cold as possible, forces himself to stay under the spray, and breathe in and out like he learned to do after a long shift until his world feels more centered. Patrick's never going to tell anyone, and he'll make sure no one's ever going to find out, least of all Bryan and Andrée.

And one day he'll look back on his own, and he'll be able to laugh about how stupid he was.

Jonny's not around, Patrick doesn't even see him regularly and he'll get over it. The season is starting, and there's more important stuff to focus on. And Patrick's too young for his midlife crisis anyway.

His phone is signaling a few new messages when he grabs it later—a very welcome distraction—and Patrick takes some time to scroll through the team group chat and take a look at the stats Stromer sent him, managing to go five seconds before the image of Jonny's dark eyes watching him pops back into his head.


	3. Chapter Three

It's fine for a while. He doesn't run into Jonny at the rink, training camp goes well, and it's always good to finally have the whole group together and to start figuring out line combinations. It's nice to be reminded again that Patrick cannot only keep up, but dominate the play on the ice. They start the season with a win on the road, and he gets a goal and an assist and is feeling even better when he gets back to the hotel to unwind.

He watches the replay with Sharpy's on-air commentary—the guy is still a dick that shouldn't be trusted with a microphone—and calls him later when he knows Sharpy is usually home.

"I'm pretty sure I've seen a grey hair there, Sharp," is what he opens up with, laughing at the offended silence he earns.

"Liar," Sharpy says with a snort. "My hairdresser assures me there are none, or I would have made sure to have them dyed already."

Well, Patrick wouldn't put that past him. They bicker for a while—about hairlines and hockey and Sharpy's new career—and talk a little about the other games, and Patrick's ready to hang up and fall into bed when Sharpy stops him.

"I talked to Seabs and Duncs the other day," he says. "And we thought we could get the core together again. The reunion was great, but it's been a while since it's been just us."

Patrick hums.

"I know Bryan and you are busy, but we thought we could just do dinner maybe. Seabs offered to host."

"Sure, why not?"

"I'll text you once I've talked to Andrée and Bryan."

Sharpy means to add something else, but Patrick almost drops the phone, barely keeps it from slipping out of his hands to the ugly grey carpet of the hotel room.

He hates how weak his knees feel suddenly, how high-pitched his voice must be even after he clears it.

"Families, too?"

For a moment, Sharpy's quiet. When he speaks again, his voice is very soft and careful.

"We thought it would be nice. Maybe if you want—we can also invite a few of the other guys if you prefer that, or—"

Oh, Jesus. Great. Sharpy thinking Patrick is feeling _lonely_ is not what he needs right now. Even without the whole Jonny-thing, it wouldn't be the truth, and he doesn't have the patience right now to deal with Sharpy snooping through his business.

"No," he says. It comes out too rushed, too defensive. He makes a soft noise. "No," he repeats. It doesn't sound quite casual enough, but it's better. "No, I was just wondering. It's a lot with all the kids."

"Sure," Sharpy says, like he doesn't quite buy it. Not that Patrick can blame him; they used to get together with the families a lot more often back when Duncs and Seabs were still playing.

Patrick aims for extra nonchalance this time.

"I guess I don't care as long as I'm not hosting." As the only guy with no house or backyard, he very rarely is the one hosting anyway. "Yeah—text me and let me know."

"Alright."

Patrick gets ready to hang up, but Sharpy clears his throat and makes a fatherly noise, the one he liked to use back when Patrick was a rookie. Over the years, Patrick has learned to distinguish between Sharpy's playful big brother and his concerned big brother mode. This one is the latter.

He could hang up quickly and pretend he didn't hear anything. But that will just delay the inevitable and make Sharpy more suspicious, and he is so, so far off from the truth—Patrick can totally sit here and let Sharpy give him a lecture about gay closeted hockey players and things getting better. Truth is, it's never been as big of a deal as Sharpy seems to think it is. Hockey's always been worth it anyway.

Sharpy sighs. "Just—I'm here if there's anything you need to talk about, eh?"

Patrick lets out a small breath, unable to fight the smile that's making its way to his face. Sharpy might be an obnoxious dick, but he's always been the first person to have Patrick's back, no matter how badly he’s fucked up.

"Yeah," he says softly. "I know."

"Well, good."

This time, he goes through with hanging up, feeling marginally better. Until he remembers the family dinner he just voluntarily signed up for.

If he's lucky, Jonny won't be there. Or, even if he'll come, Patrick can play with the kids and talk to the adults, and there won't be a problem. There is absolutely no reason why there should be a problem.

-

The first thing he sees in Seabs' living room is Jonny giving Seabs' youngest a piggyback ride. Her arms must be choking him, but Jonny's laughing along with the delighted screams of the kids and makes another round across the room. When he finally sets her down, he's breathless, and the little girl clings to the fabric of his shirt long enough that she pulls the neckline down, exposing the smooth skin of Jonny's throat and chest.

Patrick stops and swallows, a fuzzy feeling in his stomach. He's so screwed. He shouldn't have come.

"Uncle Patty," Carter screams happily. "You're here. Will you play hockey with us?"

Being the only one with no kids of his own, Patrick usually enjoys being the kids' favorite, but the downside is that he's always struggling to go two minutes without a kid demanding his attention and energy. Something is telling him he's going to share babysitting duty with Jonny today.

"Hi, Patrick," Jonny says, tugging on the collar of his shirt. It looks good on him. It's a grey school shirt, a little tight around the shoulders and chest area but loose around his stomach and hips.

"Hey, Jonny." He quickly tears his eyes away, focusing on Carter. "Later, okay? After dinner."

Carter nods solemnly, and Patrick finally steps into the room, suddenly unsure. These guys are his best friends, nothing about this dinner is out of the ordinary, but Patrick's so hyper-aware of Jonny's presence. Andrée and Dayna are preparing food in the kitchen, Seabs is nowhere to be seen, the kids have transformed the living room into a playroom already, Sharpy and Duncs are arguing about something on the couch, and Jonny's watching him. Not intensely like he did in the car—Patrick wouldn't be able to handle that—but it's still impossible to miss that all of his attention is zeroed in on Patrick.

It's Abby who saves him from awkwardly standing on his own, blissfully unaware of his inner turmoil.

"Would you mind helping me grab extra chairs from the basement, Pat? Jonny, you can help him."

Patrick nods immediately, grateful to have something to do and focus on. He doesn't bother turning his head, knowing that Jonny is right behind him as they make their way down the stairs, but Jonny is looking at him like he's waiting for Patrick to say something as they grab the chairs in silence.

Patrick very carefully keeps his eyes away from Jonny's face, and he barely gives himself time to arrange the chairs around the dinner table before he grabs a beer and hurries to join Sharpy and Duncs.

He doesn't have to look over to feel Jonny's gaze lingering for another second.

-

The food is great, even if the kids' hockey match cuts Patrick's dinner short. Not that he minds much; all the kids are way cooler than their fathers. They play for an hour, and Jonny and Patrick being on opposing teams makes the game surprisingly fair and even. But Patrick still can't shake the uneasy feeling he's been so aware of ever since he got out of his car. Jonny is right there as they play, he's in the kitchen when Patrick grabs another drink, he's talking to Seabs in the living room when Patrick flops down on the couch after getting back from the bathroom. The house feels too hot and the collar of his hoodie too tight. He keeps tugging on its strings like that would make it more comfortable, but his skin won't stop tingling, and he keeps bouncing his knees as if his body is getting ready to flee.

Bryan's next to him, analyzing their powerplay and why it's not working—how can they still not have figured that out after all these years?—and Sharpy chimes in with obnoxious comments that Patrick's brain barely registers.

"Fuck you, you would not have scored yesterday," Bryan growls. "The puck was bouncing, and that was a hell of a save by the goalie."

Patrick grins around the rim of his beer bottle. It's always been fun to get Bryan riled up.

"Oh, I would have," Sharpy says, enjoying himself maybe a little too much. "I scored hundreds of goals like that."

Jonny's behind the kitchen island, chewing on a cookie, and he's already looking as Patrick glances over. It would be easy to brush it off, that he's just eavesdropping on the conversation, that he's zoned out and staring at the wall behind him, but when Patrick meets his glance, it's like an avalanche is hitting him, fast enough that he doesn't know that it's happening. He shouldn't have looked over because he knew he wouldn't be able to look away. Jonny's staring back, and there's no doubt he _wants_ Patrick to see now, like he's trying to convey something with just the intensity of his gaze, like he's begging Patrick to notice. To acknowledge that he can see it, that the short moment in the car wasn't just some kind of fever dream.

Bryan is still talking, and Patrick should be listening, but his brain can only concentrate on Jonny and how obnoxiously tight that shirt is on him, how flushed his cheeks are.

It's the way he looked in the car when Patrick thought he was—that they might—

It's hungry and open and so, so vulnerable.

"It was an awkward bounce," Bryan argues next to him, waving his hands around.

Patrick should—he needs to—

"Bathroom," he chokes out even though no one's listening. "I gotta pee."

He sets the bottle down on the table and regrets it instantly because he misses having something to hold on to. But he's already taken a step back, and Jonny is still watching him as he bolts out of the room.

He jogs along the hallway, passes the bathroom door, and gulps in the fresh air once he's through the front door and outside. It's pitch-black, so more time must have passed than he realized. It's also surprisingly cold, but the wind on his heated cheeks has a sobering effect. The world isn't spinning as wildly anymore once he's taken a few breaths, but his curls are glued to his neck, damp and sticky when he runs a hand through them and readjusts his cap so that it sits backward. The hockey game with the kids and the heat from the food have made him sweaty, but there's no point in pretending that he's feeling dizzy solely because of the heat.

It's the stupid Portillo's thing. Everything else was easy to shrug off and ignore. But Jonny insisting on paying for him and saving his milkshake for Patrick, the way he felt whenever Jonny was looking at him, and the short moment in the car—God, he's screwed if Jonny keeps throwing that kind of temptation at him. Patrick can't let that kind of shit happen between them, and he's the one that should be setting boundaries. Bryan would murder him—rightfully so—and it's not a thing that has any kind of potential or future anyway. He's not going to let himself learn that the hard way and ruin his own life and potentially traumatize Jonny in the process. He never should have come here today, he knew he was only asking for trouble, and, _oh fuck_ —as much as he can't stand being around Jonny without the others around them, he absolutely should not be letting Jonny catch Patrick alone right now.

The door opens with a squeak, casting light over the lawn, and Patrick's heart somehow manages to drop and jump at the same time. There's no need to turn his head. There's only one person who'd follow him outside.

Patrick might have been able to stop himself in the car. He could keep himself from taking the initiative. But when Jonny is the one making a move—he doesn't stand a chance when all he has to do is let it happen.

Jonny slowly closes the door behind himself and leans against the wall next to Patrick, his shoulder pressed to Patrick's. His body is warm and solid, definitely more ripped than Patrick was at 18.

He should pull back. He means to. He will, in just a second.

"You've been avoiding me," Jonny says softly.

He's hurt. And he doesn't shy away from showing it.

It makes Patrick feel sick to his stomach. There's no point in lying. Jonny would see right through it.

He's so close. Patrick could just move his head an inch and rest it against Jonny's—Jonny's shoulder is right there.

"Tell me you don't want this," Jonny adds. "And I'll stop. I swear, I'll leave you alone. But—I think you do."

Patrick barks out a laugh. "Yeah? And what makes you think that? We barely even know each other, Jonny."

"It doesn't feel that way though," Jonny says. "And isn't that the point of it? To get to know each other better?"

"The point of what?"

Jonny shrugs. "Dating."

Oh fuck. The sharp inhale must be coming from Patrick's mouth because Jonny's breathing steadily right next to him, his eyes focused on Patrick. He means to tell him that they can never be together that way, to make it abundantly clear that this is the last time any inappropriate conversation can ever happen between them. He should apologize for letting it get this far, but—

"Jonny, we can't—"

It sounds weak and not convincing at all. And it must be written all over his face that he doesn't mean what he's saying. "We can't—" Patrick tries again, but the words come out even softer. Even he can hear the longing in his voice.

"Why not?"

Because—because—they can't—

His brain refuses to come up with anything coherent. There are reasons—at least a million different ones—but his entire mind is blank right now. It's so hard to remember why this is wrong. Jonny takes a step forward, forcing Patrick to tip his head back so he can look at him, the brim of his cap pressed to the wall behind him. It's really not fair that Jonny is taller than him.

Patrick's last few working brain cells shut off when Jonny leans his forehead against his, his breath warm and soft on Patrick's face. He balls his hands into fists, desperately reminding himself that he can't reach out for Jonny.

Jonny curls one of his hands around Patrick's hip, and—oh god, Patrick helplessly lets it all happen, unable to step away or protest.

"I _know_ that you're into me, so I want—" Jonny's voice cracks, and he exhales softly, his breath tickling Patrick's face.

Patrick's struggling to keep his eyes open. As if this is some dumb game of peekaboo, as if Jonny would just disappear if Patrick refuses to acknowledge how close they are or how much he likes that they are so close.

"When you smile," Jonny adds, his voice so painfully soft. "You get these dimples on your cheeks." He tilts his head, brushing his nose over the spot. Patrick bites his lip, scared a whimper could leave his mouth. "It looks so pretty, distracts me every single time."

Patrick's biting his lip so hard he's surprised he isn't able to taste blood yet. For a second, he squeezes his eyes shut, tiny white stars dancing in front of him as he counts down to force his eyelids open again.

Two, one—he needs to—he can't—

Jonny is already looking at him.

Patrick thinks back to the milkshake, the tension in the car, and—

"You've been watching me," he whispers.

Jonny hums, unbothered, like he isn't worried in the slightest that Patrick could find it creepy. And he doesn't. He should, maybe, but Jonny has him figured out, and Patrick's been doomed from the very moment he let himself move past smalltalk with Jonny. How often did Jonny notice him looking back? If Jonny saw, who else noticed?

And—fuck, fuck, how long have they been out here already? How many more minutes do they have before someone's going to wonder why Patrick takes so long in the bathroom? What if somebody comes looking for Jonny, or what if the kids—

"Jonny," Patrick starts, and at least he doesn't sound as breathless as he feels. Jonny tightens his grip around his hips. "Please don't—don't say all that."

"Then tell me I’m wrong about this."

Patrick should. He means to. Just one small, innocent lie. It's for the best.

"No," he breathes. "You're right."

 _Fuck_.

Jonny stays quiet. He doesn't have to say anything. It's all there in his eyes. They're wide with curiosity, staring right at Patrick, shameless and unapologetic, all the naivety of a teenager in them. Yet, it's so easy to forget how young he actually is, how many years there are between them. Maybe Patrick still isn't giving him enough credit for knowing so clearly what he wants. Maybe he's using Jonny's age at least partially as an excuse to make it easier to rationalize the decision he has to make. It's the right decision—the only acceptable one—but it doesn't feel that way. At all. It's so easy to forget.

"Do you want me to leave?" Jonny asks.

"Jonny, we can't—"

Jonny's parents are right around the corner. His entire family. The guys. Patrick's best friends. Everybody that absolutely cannot know about this. And aside from that—they just shouldn't.

"I would," Jonny adds, shushing his protest. "Tell me you don't want me. Tell me to leave and I will. I promise you won't see me around, I'll make sure to stay away. Nobody knows, and I won't tell anyone. We can pretend nothing happened. But—I want you to tell me to leave."

That's the problem. He's so sure. It's impossible for Patrick to convince himself that he has to make the right decision for both of them, that Jonny is too young to know better, when Jonny is so confident, when there's no doubt in his mind about what he wants.

Just one word. It would be so easy—

"Don't," he hears from his own mouth. It's a plea more than an order. "Don't leave."

Jonny's lips stretch into a grin. Like he knew what Patrick was going to say all along, like he didn't doubt it.

Patrick exhales and closes his eyes and focuses on breathing. In and out. Three times. When he opens his eyes, Jonny's face seems to have gotten even closer.

Finally, Patrick manages to lift his arms and bring his hands up to Jonny's chest, Jonny's heart beating steadily underneath his flat palms. He should push Jonny away and put some distance between them, a little more space to breathe. It'll be easier to think straight when they're not standing impossibly close, when Jonny isn't breathing right into his ear.

Patrick inhales—and curls his fingers into the fabric of Jonny's shirt and pulls.

And Jonny leans in and brushes his lips across Patrick's, and Patrick's suddenly glad he's leaning against the wall, that he's trapped between Jonny's body and the house, that he can hold onto Jonny.

He's shaking. His entire body is trembling, and Jonny deepens the kiss, his eyelids fluttering shut, and Patrick just needs—he needs more. He wraps his arms around Jonny's broad shoulders and kisses back, lets himself have what he didn't even dare to fantasize about.

It's not Jonny's first kiss. He's kissing Patrick like he knows what he's doing—not that Patrick's surprised— and that's some relief, but still—

Jonny's tongue slips into his mouth. An embarrassing sound leaves his mouth that makes Jonny smile into the kiss, and Patrick tightens his arms around him.

Kissing Jonny is like a drug. Now that he's given in on the temptation, he's hooked. He might never be able to stop. He knew he would be doomed, but he gave in, and one day he's gonna have to pay the price. One day, he's gonna care about that. In the heat of the moment, nothing but the euphoria matters.

Somewhere in the yard, a branch is cracking. It's probably just one of the dogs, but Patrick flinches while Jonny pulls back, and Patrick—he gulps in air and the oxygen gets at least a few of his brain cells to function again.

What the fuck is he doing? Making out with Bryan's son on Seabs' front lawn—the fucking neighbors could see. The guys inside could hear. The kids could see them. He might as well announce it on the UC's jumbotron.

"Stop, stop, stop," he forces out. Even for someone who doesn’t play hockey for a living, he's embarrassingly out of breath. "Jonny, we can't. Fuck, we can't—not _here_ ," he adds when Jonny opens his mouth to protest. "Fuck, man. You have some nerves."

Jonny has the gall to smirk, and he places another—surprisingly soft—kiss on Patrick's cheek. But he drops his hands and takes a step back— _thank god_. Patrick still has to fight the instinct to follow and chase the warmth of his body and beg for another kiss.

"Sorry," Jonny says, sounding everything but sorry. His voice has gotten deeper over the past few minutes. A very dangerous, sexy kind of deep. "Somewhere else then?"

Somehow, Patrick manages to stumble without having moved.

He barks out a laugh. "Fuck. Are you always this bold?"

"I've been told," Jonny smirks. Goddamn. His face softens as he shakes his head. "Never like this though."

That's hard to believe. Patrick's never met someone so open and raw about what he wants, so confident about going after it. And the people he usually dates are at least able to buy a beer for themselves.

"Text me," he says breathlessly. He needs to get inside. _Now_. And he's going to regret this, but it's just—a text. He could block Jonny. He could ignore all his texts—never respond. And even if he did, texting is harmless. He's not going to lose control via text.

Jonny fucking beams, and before Patrick knows what he's doing, he's kissing him again, quick and chaste, less urgent but with the same desperation.

He's so fucked.

-

He must look wrecked when he finally gets back inside.

His cheeks feel like they're on fire from the desire and the want, but his stomach drops with shame when he finds Bryan exactly where he left him, yelling at a cackling Sharpy, blissfully unaware of what just happened right under his nose.

Patrick just made out with his son. Who's still a kid. Who doesn't know what he's doing, who should rely on Patrick to make the right choice. Andrée's chatting with Sharpy, a glass of wine in her hand. She doesn't even bother turning around when Patrick enters the room again.

She'd hate him so much if she knew. Neither of them has done anything to deserve this breach of trust.

Thankfully, everyone must have been too occupied chirping each other to notice the small moment between them before Patrick fled the room, and it's late enough that no one blinks an eye either when Patrick announces that he's tired and is gonna head out. Seabs' daughter is already half-asleep on the couch, and some of the adults aren't looking much better. Patrick makes his rounds quickly enough to leave before Jonny gets back inside, and he makes a mad dash for his car before Jonny can find him again.

He doesn't trust himself around him anymore.


	4. Chapter Four

Patrick wakes up to a text from an unknown number in the morning.

Yesterday, in the heat of the moment, it hadn't even occurred to him that he never gave Jonny his number, but Jonny clearly found a way to solve that problem. He must have stolen his father's phone to copy the number, or maybe he was bold enough to ask for it directly. At this point, Patrick wouldn't put that past him.

The text simply reads _when can I see you again?_

It's a question of when, not if.

_Fuck_.

Patrick's not awake enough to deal with this. He needs a drink.

He rolls out of bed with a groan, spends too much time in the shower, drinks two cups of coffee, and finally grabs his keys to head to the rink, the text still unanswered. His phone feels heavy in the pocket of his hoodie. It's not fair to ignore Jonny, especially when Patrick literally asked him to text, but he doesn't know what to say. Or—no, he knows what he _should_ say. He just can't bring himself to do it.

He's not sure what he's expecting when he gets to the rink. For Bryan to punch him in the locker room? To knock him into the boards in a way that makes breaking Patrick's neck look like an accident? It's absurd to think that Bryan would suddenly know or suspect something, but it seems even more absurd that Patrick kissed Jonny and that the world would just keep on turning.

But Bryan just grins at him from the other side of the room, yelling a chirp about Patrick's hair, the whole room breaking into laughter before Patrick's even had a chance to make it to his locker. He exhales, his stomach unclenching, and makes a point of rolling his eyes at Bryan.

If the entire Toews family could just disappear from his life—that would be great. Well, except for maybe David. David's pretty okay.

-

When Patrick is getting ready to nap later at home, his phone lights up with another message. Jonny is even less patient than Patrick thought. He should sleep, but there's no way he's gonna be able to rest with this entire thing hanging in the air, when Jonny could still be calling and texting him right now.

Before he can reconsider if it's a smart move to call without having thought about what to say, he hits the call button. He's probably setting himself up for disaster, he thinks on the verge of hysteria when Jonny picks up in the middle of the first ring.

"Hey, Patrick," he says into the phone. It sounds a little breathless and surprisingly shy and anxious.

Patrick squeezes his eyes shut and inhales three times. Because that worked so well the last time.

"Listen, kid—" The words are coming out harsher than intended, but Jonny cuts him off.

"Don't call me that," he says sharply. And—yeah. Patrick takes a fourth deep breath. He can do this without being a jerk.

"I'm sorry." Jonny makes a small noise in response. "And—I'm sorry about yesterday." Another noise comes from the other end of the line, more impatient now. "No, listen," Patrick insists. "That never should have happened. It can't happen again. None of it is your fault, but I think we should stay away from each other while you're in the city."

"What are you talking about?" Jonny asks, his voice full of disbelief.

"It can't happen again," Patrick says, emphasizing every word. Maybe that way, he can make himself believe it too.

Jonny is quiet for what feels like a very long time. Then, he clears his throat. "Patrick, can I come over?"

_God_ , no.

No. No. No.

"I don’t think that's a good idea."

"Can we talk about this in person? Please?"

_No_.

Patrick shouldn't allow this to happen. He saw yesterday what happens if he lets Jonny get too close. But maybe he owes Jonny that much, an in-person apology instead of a five-minute phone call. He'd suggest grabbing coffee together, to make sure that there are enough people around them to keep himself from doing something dumb, but there's always a very slim chance someone could overhear a snippet of the conversation, and this is something he absolutely cannot take his chances with.

He's an adult.

He can behave for one evening and not fuck it up.

"After my nap," he says quietly. "Come over in an hour."

"Thank you," Jonny answers. He sounds too fucking hopeful.

Patrick already feels like an asshole knowing that he'll have to crush that hope, and Jonny hasn't even begun to make his way over.

-

Jonny is unfairly calm when Patrick lets him in, in sharp contrast to Patrick who is a fidgety mess. He keeps biting and licking his lips obsessively, until Jonny's eyes drop to his mouth, his eyes darkening. Patrick winces, rubbing a hand along his cheek, the itch refusing to leave.

"Do your parents know you're here?" he asks to break the awkward silence.

He's not sure if he wants to know the answer.

"I told my mom I'm hanging out with a friend." Jonny shrugs, taking off his shoes, padding into the kitchen with Patrick. Even taking him into the living room feels too dangerous and intimate.

He slides a glass of water for Jonny across the kitchen island, carefully making sure they stay on opposite ends of it, and grabs his bottle of Gatorade to finish the rest of it with one big gulp.

Jonny watches him, waiting until he has tossed the empty bottle into the garbage.

"I don't care," he blurts out, and Patrick's head snaps up.

"Huh?"

"I don't care," Jonny repeats. "Whatever you're going to say—I don't care."

"Yes, Jonny." Patrick can't help the smile tugging on the corner of his lips. "You have made that very clear. Thank you."

Jonny rolls his eyes. "I don't understand why we can't give it a try. I want you. And I wish you'd stop pretending that you aren't attracted to me."

God, Jonny is a fucking contradiction. He's so naively oblivious and so confident at the same time, and it messes with Patrick's head and makes it impossible to think straight.

"Yeah, I am attracted to you," Patrick admits quietly.

Jonny looks so young. So eager and bashfully hopeful. He's awkward in a way only a lovesick teenager can be, too pushy to be cute, but he's almost embracing the awkwardness. He's not trying to act older around Patrick or pretend to be an adult the way Patrick certainly did when he was 18. He's not acting like he knows it all, and that's weirdly endearing and charming.

"But I shouldn't be," Patrick mercilessly tries to bring himself back down to earth. "You're still a teenager."

"I don't care," Jonny interrupts. "I'm an adult. I know I'm young, but I can make my own decisions."

"That is not how being a teenager works."

Jonny huffs.

"What do you think your parents would say?"

"Patrick, I don't care," Jonny says, slowly like he thinks Patrick's stupid. "I don't exist to make my parents happy, I don't owe them anything. And my parents know you. They love you."

"Well, your parents certainly don't want me as their son-in-law."

He earns another huff.

"I don't know what to tell you," Jonny says flatly. "I want you. I don't care about anything else."

He's so unashamed, as if it's nothing to admit all that, as if it's the easiest thing in the world to talk about his feelings.

"You should care," Patrick forces himself to say, staring down at the marble surface of the kitchen island in front of them. "You can't let anyone take advantage of you like that."

"Taking—" Jonny interrupts himself with a protesting noise, narrowing his eyes. "You're not taking advantage of me. Fuck you for saying that. Fuck you for treating me like a little kid."

Patrick barely bites back the reminder that Jonny, in fact, _still is a kid_. That Patrick should see nothing more than that in him, that there's no way for him not to take advantage of Jonny's age.

Fuck, this is not going smoothly at all.

He should have known Jonny would put up a fight. He's made it pretty clear that he means every single word he's said so far, that he doesn't regret their kiss in the slightest.

"I wish you'd just stop telling yourself bullshit like that." Jonny's mouth is a firm, thin line, and he folds his arms across his chest. His shirt is stretched around his biceps, muscles flexing as he moves. Patrick needs to stop looking. He shouldn't notice those small details about Jonny. He should have learned not to look by now.

God, this is so bad. Patrick’s let it go way too far already. When he closes his eyes, he can still taste Jonny, feel his soft lips. It's too tempting.

"Jonny," he starts. It sounds weak, even to his own ears. "Please don't—don't make it harder than it already is."

Jonny furrows his brows. "I'm not saying it's easy, but—I don't think it's hard."

Patrick would pay a good amount of his salary to have just a tiny bit of Jonny's blissful ignorance and optimism.

"I want you and you look at me like you want me, too," Jonny says softly. "I think we can figure it out. If you just let us try, if you just gave us a chance to explore this thing."

_Us_. There is no us. But it sounds so nice.

Patrick just—

He makes a desperate sound, something between a whimper and a loud exhale.

It's the wrong thing to do because Jonny's eyes get darker in response, a hungry look to them. Patrick is a weak, weak man. He keeps his mouth shut when Jonny moves around the kitchen island, he doesn't move when Jonny steps into his personal space. He does it so deliberately, slow enough to give Patrick a chance to push him away, full of confidence that Patrick won't. Patrick's arms find their way around Jonny's neck all by themselves, he's got no control over anything he's doing at this point.

Was he ever in control? It sure as hell doesn't feel like it.

"You're killing me," he murmurs. "You're fucking killing me."

Jonny chuckles like he knows that. Like he's proud of it. He puts his hands on the kitchen counter behind Patrick, boxes him in between his broad frame and the cold marble surface, and looks at him like he earned Patrick, like he's never seen a thing in the world that he wants more.

And Patrick looks back helplessly, trapped in whatever spell Jonny's worked on him.

"I don't know what you're scared of," he adds, his voice soft.

As if Patrick is the one who needs the reminder here.

He means to point it all out. Jonny's parents will kill him, the guys will think he's lost his mind, his entire family is gonna kill him if Jonny's doesn't do it first. Not to mention the whole gay NHL player thing or the fact that, one day, Jonny might want to have kids and Patrick is going to be old and boring and unable to give him what he wants.

But that seems so ridiculous compared to what's right here—all his to take. Everything else seems so far away, so fucking unimportant. Like it won't ever matter if Patrick just doesn't acknowledge it.

He tilts his head up and kisses Jonny and holds on when Jonny kisses back, soft, slow nips at Patrick's lips, pulling him closer until their chests are flush. Jonny's arms feel even bigger than they look, and Patrick fits so perfectly in them. He could stay here forever.

Jonny lifts him on the kitchen island like he weighs nothing, never pulling back from Patrick's lips. It's almost painfully slow, nothing like the urgency and heat from yesterday, but Jonny feels the same—strong and sure and confident. His arms are stroking along Patrick's back, slipping under his shirt. He settles his big hands low on Patrick's waist and pulls him to the edge, grinning at the small yelp leaving Patrick's lips when he almost falls right off the kitchen island.

"Don't look at me like that," he snaps with no real heat behind it.

Jonny chuckles.

"I like looking at you." Always so raw and open. Jonny places a kiss on the corner of Patrick's mouth and tightens his fingers around his hips. "You’re beautiful."

Because there's nothing as attractive as a guy in his 30s with the hairline of a 70-year-old.

Patrick rolls his eyes.

"No, you're really pretty," Jonny says, earnest and slow like he needs Patrick to understand.

He grabs the hem of Patrick's shirt and lifts it over his head, tossing it to the side. It's not very cold in the kitchen but Patrick shivers at the sudden exposure to the air.

"See?" Jonny says teasingly, more to Patrick's abs than his face. His hands slide over to Patrick's chest, his lips following. They're warm and soft on Patrick's throat, on his shoulders, so, so close to his nipples. Jonny places kisses all over Patrick's chest, exploring and teasing at the same time. Patrick falls back, has to catch himself with both hands before he's lying on the kitchen island while Jonny follows, mouthing at Patrick's hipbone. Patrick's dick twitches weakly in his pants at how close Jonny's lips are.

"I kept thinking about this yesterday," Jonny says, lips brushing along Patrick's abs. His hands are sliding to Patrick's belt now, unbuckling it, opening his zipper to reveal the dark blue fabric of his boxer briefs. "Do you know how easy it was to tell that I was getting under your skin? You looked so pretty, and you kept licking your lips. Fucking drove me insane."

When Patrick was 18, he was scared of even looking too closely at a guy, of accidentally doing something dumb or making an embarrassing noise while making out. How can Jonny say such filth and not—

Jonny presses a kiss to the tip of his hard cock through the fabric and Patrick whimpers. Hell, even now, he's scared of making a stupid sound. The front of his underwear was wet with precum even before, and Jonny gets it messy with his spit, kissing and sucking, looking up at Patrick with wide, dark eyes. Trusting and curious and somehow still so fucking innocent all at once.

Patrick groans.

Jonny's mouth is so warm and perfect, and there's still a layer of clothing in the way. He needs to get that off _now_.

"We should—" Jonny sucks the tip of his dick into his mouth, and Patrick cuts himself off with a moan. "Jonny, let's—" A zing of pleasure shoots up his spine. "Bedroom," he finally manages. "C'mon, now."

"The kitchen is fine," Jonny mutters without pulling back. "I don't care."

Patrick laughs, too breathless to sound casual.

"C'mon," he says, sliding a hand to Jonny's neck, gently scratching through the soft hair. "I'm an old man. You're killing my back here."

Jonny doesn't pull back to acknowledge the self-deprecating words. Very unbothered, he licks along the length of Patrick's dick, dragging his tongue along the wet patch, and Patrick's cock jumps, so desperate for more.

"Bedroom," he repeats shakily. "Jonny, please—"

Jonny places a kiss right above the waistband of Patrick's briefs and finally pulls back, his hair sticking up when Patrick's fingers slip away from his head. He dives right back in for another kiss while he pulls Patrick off the kitchen island, and Patrick falls right into Jonny's chest and almost stumbles, his pants still hanging around his knees.

"Bedroom," Patrick repeats like a mantra while he's kicking them off, stumbling forward with Jonny draped to his back. Jonny refuses to let go of him, and it's not like Patrick really minds, but it doesn't make moving into the bedroom any easier.

"You're not an old man," Jonny mutters, sucking on the spot right above Patrick's collarbone where his neck meets his shoulder. Patrick stumbles into a wall, Jonny following, barely catching them both, and Patrick moans when Jonny's crotch is pressed against his ass.

There are too many fucking layers of clothes between them.

He falls onto the bed and barely manages to turn over on his back before Jonny's all over him again, sliding between Patrick's spread legs, kissing the corner of his mouth, pressing his hard cock against Patrick's, rocking his hips forward. His jeans scratch over the skin of Patrick's inner thighs, making him shiver—from the roughness or pleasure he can’t tell. Maybe it's a little bit of both.

Patrick's always been into guys taller than him, guys slightly bigger who can push him around. Maybe that's why the sudden crush on Jonny is so shocking—if anything he's dated guys older than him. Since turning 30, there hasn't been a guy under 25 who's caught his eye, and then there's Jonny—a _teenager_ —and Patrick's head over heels and hopelessly gone.

When Jonny's lips leave his mouth, his eyes are glassy and dazed, and it's a gorgeous look on him. Patrick—he wants more of that. More of Jonny, more of Jonny's arms around him, more of Jonny's lips on his body. He tugs on Jonny's collar until Jonny gets the hint and takes his shirt off, and then Patrick's staring at his smooth chest.

He swallows.

Jonny's too gorgeous for his own good.

"Still working out, huh?" he teases, letting his hands dance along Jonny's abs. He presses his flat palm to the visible bulge in Jonny's pants, a satisfied smile tugging on the corner of his lips at Jonny's desperate gasp.

"Don't," Jonny says breathlessly.

He grabs Patrick's wrist, pulling his hand away with gentle firmness. "Don't, or I'm going to—"

He flushes an angry shade of red, spreading from his cheeks and down his neck.

_Oh_. Teenage hormones. In a way, it's nice to see there are still things Jonny is shy about. Patrick laughs but that only makes the flush on Jonny's face deepen.

"Don't laugh," he says, sharper than necessary.

"No, I'm not." Patrick pulls him down again, kisses the corner of Jonny's mouth, and slides his arms around Jonny's shoulders to keep him where he is before Jonny can sit up. Jonny lets himself be pulled, even if it's reluctant. "It's fine."

Jonny settles his weight on top of Patrick which forces his crotch against Patrick's, and a low whine leaves his throat.

"I wanna fuck you so bad." The words leave Jonny's mouth in a rush and he bites his lip, trailing off. His face is scarlet, and Patrick's so fucking into it.

"Yeah," he chokes out. "Yeah, we can do that."

Jonny opens his mouth. And closes it again.

"Oh," he breathes, the sound punched-out. "If you're into that then—"

"Yeah," Patrick interrupts. He's struggling to string words together. "Yeah, I'm really into that."

"Okay," Jonny says, his voice soft. "Okay, do you—"

"Get those off," Patrick says at the same time, and Jonny cuts himself off in the middle of his sentence to get rid of his pants. He yanks his boxers down with them, his dick slapping against his stomach with an obnoxious noise. It's flushed an angry red, a drop of precum at the tip, and Patrick wants to both lick it off and get Jonny's dick inside of him at the same time.

"Don't," Jonny repeats warningly, his voice tight when Patrick reaches for his cock. "Patrick, please, I'm really gonna—"

"Second rounds, Jonny," Patrick says, failing to hide back a smirk. "They are a thing."

Jonny opens his mouth, but Patrick wraps his fingers around Jonny's cock before he's gotten a word out, and Jonny's eyes fall shut, his head rolls back, and he groans, deep and desperate, and his cock jumps so harshly that Patrick thinks he's going to come just by that small touch.

"Fuck," Jonny grits out, taking a deep inhale. He's sitting on Patrick's legs, naked and gorgeous and fully on display for Patrick to look at. It's impossible to miss how close he is, and Patrick's not cruel enough to drag it out and tease him. He catches the precum with his thumb and smears it around the tip of Jonny's cock while he rocks his hips up, forcing the length of his cock against Jonny's, the fabric of his boxers the only barrier between them. Jonny's staring down to where Patrick's hand is sliding along his dick, mesmerized, his eyes wide and deep, absently moving his hips into Patrick's fist. And then he gasps, his cock twitches, and Patrick jerks him through his orgasm, warm liquid landing on his fingers and his stomach and boxers. It's such a pretty sight, the way Jonny's head is falling back, his abs clenching and unclenching, thighs trembling as if his world is falling apart just by a small touch from Patrick.

"Fuck," Jonny repeats, softer.

He looks dazed.

Patrick could look at him for the rest of the evening if it wasn't for his aching dick.

He pulls Jonny down again, smiling when Jonny almost loses his balance as he hurries to slot their mouths together. It's slower and sloppier now, Jonny humming into the kiss, and somehow, Patrick manages to strip off his boxers without breaking the kiss. When he tries to pull back, Jonny makes a protesting sound at the back of his throat, shifting his weight on top of Patrick to pin him down as if he can't bear to let Patrick move away.

How was Patrick ever able to resist him? How did he manage to pull back yesterday? It seems so impossible that he never allowed himself to have this now that he knows how good it can feel.

Hooking up with Jonny is going to make him sick with shame later. He'll never be able to look at Bryan again without seeing Jonny in his eyes or hear him in the way he talks, but that seems so far away right now. Now, Jonny's in Patrick's bed, and Patrick just—he wants him so much.

"Lemme just—" He kisses the corner of Jonny's mouth in apology, rolls over to the edge of the bed, and starts mindlessly digging through the mess that is his nightstand.

Patrick's learned to only hook up on the road in cities where people have no clue who he is and the last serious thing he had was … six or seven years ago? It's been ages. And years and years of sharing hotel rooms made him get into a habit of jerking off in the shower, and he barely ever touches his hole when it's just him. But there is lube somewhere in here. Somewhere between pills, his sleeping mask, magazines, and various cables.

Jonny wraps himself around him again, his nose pressed to Patrick's shoulder, arms tight around his body. He's clingy in an obnoxiously charming way and always so affectionate—mouthing along Patrick's throat like it's been years rather than seconds that he didn't get to do this, sliding his hands along Patrick's naked body as if he can't believe that he gets to touch now. When Patrick finally finds the lube, hidden underneath a box of Kleenex, Jonny makes a needy, urgent sound.

Patrick ignores his throbbing dick to hand Jonny some Kleenex, so he can at least wipe himself clean while he scrubs some dried come off his own hand and fishes a condom out of the drawer, breathing deep to calm himself down.

"Here—" Patrick tosses the condom on the mattress. "Should fit you decently enough, so—" He interrupts himself when Jonny's ears get that rosy color again, his eyes sheepishly soft.

"I, uh, brought some myself," Jonny confesses. "I can—hold on."

All Patrick can do is stare at his round ass when he crawls off the bed to find his jeans and wallet to retrieve the small plastic package. His brain is too busy processing to take notice of how nice Jonny's ass really is, all firm muscle, because—

Jonny came here with condoms, hoping, probably _knowing_ , that Patrick would let him fuck him. Maybe he went out of his way to buy condoms for today.

Patrick lets his head fall back to the mattress, barking out a laugh.

"I can't fucking believe you."

Jonny has the audacity to look smug, even if his ears are still pink.

"You're into it."

"Yeah," Patrick says helplessly. He spreads his legs, smiling when Jonny's eyes snap down to his hole. "Yeah, I'm into it."

He means to ask if Jonny has done this before—Patrick's terrible at judging Jonny if he keeps being surprised by his bluntness—but Jonny trails one hand along the inside of his thigh and to his hole and kisses Patrick's knee, and the words get lost somewhere between his brain and lips.

A deep groan slips out of his mouth instead.

"You're so pretty down here," Jonny says quietly, his fingertips grazing along Patrick's hole. It clenches greedily, and Patrick bites down so hard on his lip that he flinches. "I'm gonna eat you out one day. Make you come on my tongue."

_Oh_.

Oh god.

Patrick breathes. He takes an inhale through his nose and lets it out on a whimper. Jonny's going to kill him before he's even had a chance to get a finger inside of Patrick. The cracking noise when Jonny opens the lube must have conditioned him enough that a shiver runs down his spine.

"How do you know—" His breath hitches when Jonny spreads the lube around Patrick's hole. "How do you know I'll let you?"

Jonny doesn't answer for a second, too busy working one finger into Patrick. It's so slow and gentle, his brow furrowed like this is a question on a quiz that's presented to him. When he adds a second finger, it's a stretch—it really has been a while—and Patrick's struggling to keep his eyes open. But he needs to watch Jonny, to look and soak it in. There's too much to miss out on if he allows himself to even blink.

"'Cuz you know I'd make it good," Jonny says. Like it's easy. Maybe it is.

Patrick would definitely let him, he'd be begging Jonny for it already if he didn't also really, really want to get fucked.

He laughs again, the only outlet he has for his disbelief, for how much this feels like a fever dream. The vibration of his body forces Jonny's fingers deeper inside, fingers brushing over this prostate, and Patrick arches his back instinctively, little zings of pleasure shooting down his spine.

"Concentrate on making this good first," he says around a moan. "Ah, fuck—then we can talk about the rest."

"Right," Jonny mutters, concentrated—like this is a challenge. "God, you're so tight, Patrick."

A third finger stretches his rim, forcing its way inside. Patrick is so full, stretched open around Jonny's fingers, and Jonny's cock is big enough that it will still hurt a little. It'll make him sore in the morning, and he's going to be reminded of Jonny every time he moves, and it's going to be hot and shameful, and he's going to love it, and he's going to hate himself for loving it.

Right now, he couldn’t care less.

Jonny starts moving, fucking his fingers in and out, finding a steady pace, scissoring his fingers, moving them around. It's addictive. Patrick's eyes fall shut, and he can't find the strength to force them open again. All his brain can focus on is the sensation between his legs and the feeling of being so full and so close to Jonny. Loud, slapping noises start filling the room so Jonny must be jerking off, and Patrick shudders with anticipation, clenching around Jonny's hand.

"Oh fuck," Jonny says, choked off. "Pat, I need to—can I—"

"Yes," he grits out. "Yes. Fuck me."

Jonny withdraws his hands so abruptly that Patrick yelps in shock, his muscles trembling from the sudden loss.

His hole is so empty, and he needs—

"Sorry," Jonny says, pressing an apologetic kiss to Patrick's stomach. His voice is so fucking scratchy.

He fiddles with the condom, and then his big hands are on Patrick's knees, pushing them further apart, making room for himself as he knee walks between Patrick's spread legs. His cock nudges Patrick's hole, and he forces his way inside so painfully slow. His face is hovering a few inches above Patrick's—Patrick can hear his ragged breath—and he forces his eyes open, scared that the sensation is gonna be too much.

The room is spinning, and Jonny's face is a bit blurry, and Patrick feels drunk with want.

"Move," he chokes out when Jonny's fully inside, their hips flush. It's so much but not enough—Patrick needs him to be deeper and closer.

"Yeah?" Jonny asks breathlessly but he's already pulling out and slamming back in with a force that makes the bed shake, Patrick moving helplessly with it.

At least Jonny is as desperate and hungry for it as Patrick is.

"God," he groans. "Yeah, that's good."

Somehow, he manages to bring his hands up to bury them in Jonny's hair and pull him down, forcing Jonny to brace himself up with his elbows on either side of Patrick's body before he faceplants into his chest. He sets a faster pace as he catches himself, quick snaps of his hips that force Patrick into the mattress and the bed back against the wall. Jonny uses his entire body to press him into the mattress, shifts his weight around to change the angle, and then he hits Patrick's prostate with the next thrust, and Patrick sees stars, his toes curling. He arches his back, chases Jonny's dick for more, tightens his grip on Jonny's arms, and whimpers when Jonny finds the right angle to keep going like that.

"Told you it'd be good," Jonny gasps, his face pressed to Patrick's shoulder. He's sucking on his throat again and still somehow manages to be smug while he's balls-deep inside of Patrick.

It's not fucking fair.

And Patrick can't say anything back—he has lost the ability to form sentences, can only respond with high-pitched noises.

Jonny's mouth is warm and wet, and he's found a sensitive spot on Patrick's neck that's connected right to his crotch, and his dick is getting precum all over his stomach. All he can do is ride the waves and let the pleasure wash him away and get lost in Jonny and Jonny's body. He's kissing him again, urgent and deep and messy, and Patrick brings his arms around Jonny's shoulders, legs around his waist and meets his thrusts, their movements uncoordinated, but he's so close, and he needs to come so, so badly. His cock is trapped between their bodies now, and the friction is so good while Jonny's dick inside of him is so big, splitting him open and Patrick just needs—

"Jonny, I'm gonna—"

Jonny slams into him, rattling the bedframe—oh god, the neighbors—and Patrick doesn't get to finish his sentence.

His orgasm punches the air out of his lungs, and he's probably digging his fingers too hard into Jonny's shoulders because Jonny whimpers, but he barely notices because it feels so good, and it won't stop and Jonny's still fucking him.

He doesn't realize Jonny is coming as well until Jonny collapses on top of him, his cock slipping out of Patrick's hole. They both whimper, and Jonny goes boneless on top of Patrick, face nuzzled into the curve of Patrick's neck.

"Holy shit," he whispers, and Jonny laughs, scratchy and deep.

When he pulls back, his eyes are dark and glassy. He looks wrecked, muscles shaking with the effort to hold himself up. Patrick doesn't have the energy to point out where the bathroom is, but Jonny gets up anyway, pads into the adjoining room to get rid of the condom, and collapses next to Patrick again.

"So?" Jonny kisses his forehead. "Was your aging back able to handle some missionary sex?"

_Jesus Christ_.

Patrick means to punch him, but he chuckles instead, stomach swooning.

"Fuck you. Have some respect."

Jonny rolls them over, wraps his arm around Patrick's waist, his chest pressed to Patrick's back, and places a kiss on his neck.

It's nice to lie like this, Jonny's big body wrapped around him, his breath hot on Patrick's skin. Patrick closes his eyes and waits for the regret to come as his heartbeat returns to normal, but all that settles inside of him is a deep, content feeling of relief.

He falls asleep to Jonny's hand stroking along his ribcage.

-

When he wakes up, Jonny's gone. The spot behind Patrick is cold—he must have been asleep for longer than he thought—but his blanket is draped over him when he could have sworn it was tossed to the ground earlier.

Jonny wouldn't run away, he reminds himself while he rolls out of bed. And Jonny's clothes are still scattered around the floor, mixed in with Patrick's own—dirty and sticky and disgusting. He grabs the first pair of boxers he finds in his messy dresser and an old washed-out shirt, smoothing a hand through his tousled curls.

Jonny is in the kitchen, a bowl of cereal in front of him, phone in his hand. He's only wearing obnoxiously tight boxers, and Patrick has a feeling that those are his.

"Sorry," Jonny says, blushing, the spoon halfway between the bowl and his mouth. "I woke up, and I was hungry, but I didn't want to wake you up, so I thought—"

"No, it's fine," Patrick interrupts. Seeing Jonny like that—serving himself food in Patrick's kitchen, dressed in only Patrick's boxers—makes his stomach weirdly fuzzy.

He grabs a glass of water for himself and sits down next to Jonny.

This is not at all how the evening was supposed to go. Patrick should probably care about that more.

"You could have woken me up though," he adds after a moment of silence.

Jonny shrugs. "Yeah but—I don't know. You looked really peaceful."

Since Patrick has no idea how to even respond to that, he keeps his mouth shut and sips his water, and pretends that none of that gets to him. It should be awkward to sit in silence while Jonny finishes his cereal, but it's refreshingly comfortable. Jonny has put his phone down, and, every once in a while, Patrick can feel his eyes linger, but he doesn’t say anything.

It's nice to just sit and exist in each other's space.

After he's done with his food, Jonny rinses off the bowl and puts it in the dishwasher because he's clearly doing a better job of being a responsible adult than Patrick.

And then he steps between Patrick's legs, cups his face, and kisses him again, and Patrick melts into it like ice cream in the sun. It's gentle and slow, and Jonny's thumb slides along his cheek, gently digging into his dimple when Patrick smiles into the kiss.

"We shouldn't have done this," Patrick whispers, his forehead falling to Jonny's chest. He's being a coward, but he really can't bring himself to look into Jonny's eyes.

Jonny's hands slide down, idly playing with the curls at the nape of Patrick's neck.

"Do you regret it?"

That's an easy one.

"No."

He’s only a little disgusted with himself. Progress. In which direction, he isn't sure yet.

Jonny hums.

When Patrick brings himself to pull away, Jonny's hand slides back to his cheek, his eyes soft and hopeful.

"Can I see you again?"

How tempting it is to say yes.

"I don't know," he says, forcing the words out. "It's not that easy, Jon."

Jonny remains silent, his lips pressed together. Maybe he's sick of arguing.

Patrick wouldn’t blame him.

"Look," he adds. "I'm leaving town in two days, and I'm gonna be on the road for awhile. You need to give me some time here."

No amount of time will change anything about the situation. He wants Jonny. He shouldn't want Jonny. It's that simple and that complicated. But it's too tempting to push the issue aside to deal with it later.

"Can I text you?" Jonny adds, brushing his nose along Patrick's cheek. It takes a lot of willpower not to turn his head and beg for a kiss.

"Jonny, your father is going to be around. In a room right next to mine." Jonny doesn't even blink. Fuck, Patrick hates this. "Don't expect me to answer."

Jonny breaks into a delighted grin like he knows Patrick is going to answer anyway. Damn it, he's probably right.

"If you bombard me with texts," he adds quickly. "I swear, I'm gonna block you."

Jonny laughs. "Noted."

He tilts his head and grins, eyes full of mischief. And Patrick lets himself be kissed again, desperately fighting for control of the kiss. He wraps his legs around Jonny's waist, Jonny's half-hard cock pressed against his when Patrick rolls his hips experimentally.

"I think—" Jonny groans, clearly having to force himself to pull away. "I have to be home soon."

Relief should be floating through Patrick's body rather than the nagging disappointment. If only things were different.

He lets Jonny take a step back and nods.

"Sure."

"I wish I could stay for the night though." Jonny's eyes drop down to Patrick's lips as he licks them, his pupils widening. "Fuck, I could maybe call my mom and ask—"

Patrick can't help himself. He interrupts Jonny with an involuntary, desperate sound from the back of his throat.

The guy he had sex with just two hours ago has to ask his _mom_ to stay over for a night.

And, somehow, even that is not enough of a dealbreaker for Patrick to run for the hills.

"No," he says. "No, Jonny, you should leave." Because, apparently, it's fine to have Jonny's dick inside of him but not okay to let him stay for the night. He should think about his priorities. "And you shouldn't lie to your mom," he adds, smiling at the sheepish look on Jonny's eyes.

"She wouldn't mind me spending time with you."

"Yeah because she has no idea what's actually going on here."

Patrick sighs at Jonny's shrugs while Jonny steps back, pressing another, more chaste, kiss to Patrick's mouth.

"You can keep my boxers by the way."

Jonny blushes, his cheeks still pink when he gathers his own disgusting, sticky underwear, and makes himself look presentable again. Patrick walks him to the door and the goodbye kiss he means to keep chaste and brief turns dirtier when Jonny presses him against the wall and gets his hands back under Patrick's shirt.

"Jonny," he whines. His arms are wrapped around Jonny's neck, and he wants Jonny to pull back so badly, barely realizing that he's the one keeping Jonny close. "Jonny, you should—"

"I don't want to." Jonny bites the curve of his neck and groans into Patrick's skin.

Patrick's ready to say fuck it, to drag Jonny back into his bedroom and find a way to explain this to his parents later, but then Jonny takes a step back, wide-eyed and a little out of breath. "Are you going to let me know when you're back in town?"

"Well—if your dad gets back, and I don't—that should be reason for concern."

Jonny snorts. "Don't be a jerk."

Patrick grins as rolls his eyes, huffing in annoyance.

But the road trip is a convenient reason not to see each other for a while. If Patrick's being honest with himself, he has to admit that he wouldn't have the self-control to stay away.

And after getting back—well, he slept with Jonny already. He broke so many boundaries. He got himself in so deep and has to find a way back out. And he can't avoid Jonny forever.

"I'll text you," he promises. "But I don't know when."

To his surprise, Jonny nods without any further comment. He grabs his jacket and puts his shoes back on and looks at Patrick for a second.

"I hope you know I don't regret any part of this."

Which doesn't make any of this easier.

Patrick sighs. "Yeah."

"Okay." Jonny kisses him again, a smile on his lips, and Patrick smiles back helplessly.

He's so screwed.


	5. Chapter Five

He boards the plane and manages to avoid Bryan until they get to the hotel. Then, Bryan opens the adjoining door between their rooms and suggests watching a stupid show Patrick probably is going to be bored of after ten minutes. But he has nothing better to do, and it suddenly feels suspicious to say no. As if Bryan would think that Patrick's trying to avoid him, that he would suspect that something is going on. 

So, they get settled on Bryan's bed, and Patrick tries to follow the plot because the show doesn't even seem that bad, but there's so much distracting him. Only a little while ago, he kept seeing Bryan in Jonny. The way he talks, a little monotone but always thoughtful, is all Bryan. The dedication. The competitive seriousness. The way Jonny babysits all the kids at team parties is so much like Bryan in the locker room, always taking care of everyone. It makes sense to notice all these details in Bryan's kid after pretty much growing up with Bryan. But, suddenly, the way Bryan chuckles at one of the stupid jokes on screen, soft and dry, makes Patrick remember how Jonny teased him about his back. The way Bryan throws his head back in laughter is so like Jonny when he's relaxed and happy.

Patrick lets his head fall back against the wall and barely swallows an exasperated groan. 

This is all so fucking wrong.

"Yeah," Bryan says next to him. "Stupid decision to take her back."

On-screen, two characters are making out on a beach. Patrick hadn't realized they were exes. Maybe he was paying less attention to the show than he thought. 

All he can offer in response is a vague hum, but that's enough to make Bryan look over.

"Are you okay? This is the first love story where you didn't make me listen to your rant about the story arc for at least half an hour." 

It's a joke, he's grinning, but there's also a genuine curiosity in it, maybe a hint of concern, too.

"Well, you usually complain about it," Patrick says with a huff.

Bryan laughs. "I guess that's true."

He keeps looking though, so Patrick does a half-shrug that hopefully looks unbothered.

"I'm just tired."

"Weird time zone, eh?"

"Sure."

It's a handy excuse. The older he gets, the more he's affected by all the traveling. It's tiring and draining, and exploring the same old cities stopped being fun ten years ago. 

Bryan grabs the remote and mutes the show.

"It's almost time for a nap anyway. We can stop here and watch the rest later."

Patrick should not be this grateful for the excuse, but he can't get his head into the show or his mind to focus on anything. Especially not around Bryan when every single word he says feels like a betrayal and a lie. 

Patrick's always looking forward to their games, but can hardly wait to hit the ice today. Anything is a welcome distraction. He could really, really use it because there's a text waiting from Jonny when he's back in his room to nap.

A random picture of Jonny playing video games should not make him consider texting back. 

That's not even a way to start a conversation. Jesus Christ. 

Patrick grits his teeth and forces himself to lock his phone and put it down on the nightstand.

-

Patrick must be blessed with extra persistence because, somehow, he manages not to text Jonny back while he's on the road. 

It's significantly harder once he's back in Chicago. 

He needs to answer soon, and there are no more excuses not to anymore. He needs to end things and make sure nothing happens between them. Again, he adds mercilessly. He’s let way too much happen to begin with. If only he didn't already know that the conversation will take the exact same turn as the last one. It would take approximately five minutes for Jonny to break down his barriers on a good day.

So, he waits a day. And another one. On the third, Jonny reaches out again. He deserves serious credit for his patience and persistence.

_Dad is back, and I haven't heard from you. Do I need to call 911?_

Patrick can hear the monotone of Jonny's voice even through text. 

He snorts at his empty condo. And before his brain has time to remind him of why this is a shitty idea, he's hit the call button.

"You're alive," Jonny says, chuckling. "Good to know."

There's no sign of any kind of doubt in his voice that maybe he was scared Patrick wouldn't call. 

Jonny figured him out a long time ago. 

Patrick sighs. It's nice to hear Jonny's voice. "What have you been up to?"

"Not much," Jonny says. He sounds relaxed and comfortable. Maybe he's in bed and—yeah, Patrick shouldn't even go there. "Been working a lot. The Hawks let me get a glimpse into the ticketing department to get me started."

"Oh yeah?"

"The internship is fun," Jonny adds, humming. "Thanks for the kick in the butt. I needed that, and—I would have regretted not taking it."

"Is now the right time for me to say I told you so?"

Patrick can _hear_ the eye roll from the other end of the line.

"I'm glad you like it," he adds, softer.

"It's really interesting." Something in the background shuffles like maybe Jonny is turning around in bed. "I didn't quite realize how much consideration has to go into everything."

"So, what do you do all day?"

"Depends, I guess." Jonny starts talking about his first few days, and there's a lot more enthusiasm in his voice than a few weeks ago when he was talking about the possibility of returning to college. And Patrick shouldn't care—he's been playing for the Hawks long enough that he knows a thing or two about how the organization is run, anything beyond that never concerned him—but he finds himself listening, eager to hear what Jonny has to say. And the coward inside of him is happy for the excuse to ignore the elephant in the room and not talk about the big issue if he can just lie on his couch and listen to Jonny's voice.

"I've been wondering if I'd see you at the rink some time," Jonny adds. "I was kinda hoping to run into you."

Patrick should be happy that that hasn't happened again.

"You know I usually don't walk into the front office, yeah?"

"One can hope," Jonny says, a silent shrug to his tone. God, he couldn't be subtle if he tried.

"Jonny," Patrick says weakly. 

They're not even talking in person and control is already slipping through his fingers.

"I want to see you again."

If Patrick asks him to come over, they probably won't exchange more than five words before ending up in his bedroom.

He inhales and counts to five in his head.

"Wanna go for a walk?"

It's not the best date idea he's ever come up with. But not the worst either. Either way, he should stop thinking of this as a date. He needs to talk to Jonny, end things for good, and make sure he's not keeping Jonny around for a convenient fuck because it sure as hell feels like they're heading in that direction when he's both unable to commit and incapable of staying away. It would be even more fucked up than the current situation, and Jonny already deserves someone a lot better. Patrick's been enough of an asshole around Jonny as it is.

"I can meet you at the little park by Water Tower," Jonny offers. It's impossible to tell if he's excited or disappointed about being out in public.

Patrick bites his lip and nods to himself, part of him already regretting that he didn't ask Jonny to come over.

-

Jonny looks stupidly attractive when Patrick spots him, his hands shoved into the pockets of a large hoodie, his cap sitting backward on his head with a few strains of brown sticking out from underneath. How he's not freezing in only a hoodie is beyond Patrick—the wind is icy enough to make him shiver in his coat—but he's given up on understanding how Canadian genes work 20 years ago.

He carefully keeps a distance between them to resist the temptation of touching Jonny. 

To his surprise, Jonny doesn't try moving closer either.

"Do you want to grab a coffee somewhere?" he asks, and since Patrick's already unsure what to do with his hands, he's grateful to have something to hold onto.

Jonny pays for both drinks with a look that dares Patrick to put up a fight about it. He should, probably, but he sighs instead. Jonny is too stubborn for his own good.

They walk in silence for a while, sipping their coffee, and Patrick means to use the time to gather his thoughts, but all he does is enjoy Jonny's presence and the soft breeze tickling his skin.

"So—uh—" Jonny gently bumps his shoulder against Patrick's. "Is this a date?" 

It's pathetic how he keeps being thrown off by questions like that.

"I don't think it should be."

"But you want it to be." Jonny grins, but it's a little crooked. "And yes, I know. It's not that easy."

"Fuck you, I don't talk like that." His voice isn't as monotone as Jonny's. Not when he isn't talking to the media anyway.

Jonny chuckles. "You do."

"I absolutely do not," he hisses, lowering his voice when a lady walking by gives him a funny look. 

Jonny grins.

"You sound dead inside sometimes," he teases. "Like you're about to fall asleep." Patrick opens his mouth to protest but closes it when Jonny's face softens. "But when you talk about hockey or friends and family—your eyes get all fond. It's like you're lighting up, and—I really like that."

Patrick—he has no idea how to respond to that. The idea of being watched by Jonny—Jonny _observing_ him—is unnerving and terrifying and flattering and hot. Jonny hasn't been shy about letting him know that he's been noticing tiny details like that, but it keeps making Patrick jittery, his heart speeding up.

He takes a sip of water and hopes the tip of his ears aren't as hot as they feel.

"You—how long have you been watching me for?"

"Since the reunion," Jonny says with a shrug. "And I am not watching you. I just notice things."

"That's one way of putting it, I guess," Patrick mutters under his breath. He finishes his coffee and squeezes the empty cup between his fingers, the paper crumbling. Taking a deep breath, he forces himself to look over and meet Jonny's eyes. Talk about obvious fondness. "It doesn't make a difference whether or not I want this to be a date."

Jonny frowns back. "Of course it does."

They are really just talking in circles without ever having anything come out of it. Patrick's own inability to set boundaries is the main reason, and yet, here they are again. And they're still in public. With a little more privacy than sitting in a Portillo's, but it's still reckless to discuss this with people walking by. He didn't think this through either, and it's not even a surprise—he's abandoned logic and reason a long time ago when it comes to Jonny.

"We still don't even know each other." 

He doesn't even believe himself, and he can't blame Jonny for huffing.

"That's not true and I told you—getting to know each other is the whole point here."

It sucks to be lectured about life by a teenager. Especially since said teenager has a good point.

"You're a real smartass, eh?"

"I've been told," Jonny says dryly. He looks like an asshole with his stupid cap and chubby cheeks. Patrick's lost all control for being so into it. "I know it's not easy. I'm young, but I'm not stupid. I know it's harder for you. But I don't think it's impossible, and I wish you'd stop saying that. I wish you'd just let me talk for once."

 _Oh_. 

Patrick's been so busy trying not to let anything happen between them (and failing miserably) that he never actually let Jonny talk. Maybe he's been too scared that it would tempt him. It's not exactly fair to Jonny.

He inhales.

"Okay, I'm listening," he says softly. 

Jonny stares at him like he's grown a second head before his lips stretch into a happy grin. Patrick has to swallow and turn his head away. At least they're in a quiet part of the city, and there are only a few people crossing their path. 

"Okay, so, uh—" Jonny empties his coffee to pause as if he's considering a mental list. As if he's been meaning to say this for a while. Patrick really hasn't given him a lot of opportunities to talk. "I hate how you constantly put yourself down because of your age. You act like you're 80 and not one of the best hockey players in the league. It's like you're looking for excuses, like you're trying to convince yourself that you're too old for me. I'd stay away if you weren't into me, but I _know_ that you're attracted to me, and I wish you'd admit that. It hurts when you act like I'm a little boy who's too dumb to know better and like it's wrong of you to like me. I get that we might never work out. I get that there are reasons for that, but I'd like to find that out for sure. I'm in Chicago for a while. We can date and give it a try."

"And how would that work?"

"Dating?" Jonny smirks. "I don't know. You're the one with the life experience here."

Patrick snorts.

"I mean, I thought about it," Jonny adds, his tone more serious. Of course he has, Patrick isn't surprised. "And I don't get why it has to be difficult. I just want to keep seeing you. We can hang out at your place, grab food together. Whatever. I don't care. I just—I want to be around you all the time."

It comes out almost pained. Jonny might have done a good job hiding his feelings behind his cocky façade, but there's no doubt now that he's hurt by being pushed away all the time. That Patrick forced him to be so pushy and demanding, that he's almost made Jonny beg to acknowledge his feelings.

If only he could just apologize and allow them to move on. If only there weren't reasons for any of that.

Patrick takes a deep breath. "Jonny, I'm a gay NHL player. I really can't walk around dating guys in public."

He earns a look that doesn't hide how stupid Jonny thinks he is. "I am aware."

Maybe, someday, Patrick's going to punch him for being so stubborn. 

He sighs instead.

"I can't be around for anything my partner does. I can't bring my partner to events. When you graduate from college, I couldn't be there. I could never touch you in public. When I'm at an award show, you'd have to sit at home. You couldn't take me to your friends' parties, and, for a long time, you couldn't even tell your friends about me. We could barely travel to places where people watch hockey. At family parties, no one could ever post anything where we would be in the background. I'd have to do interviews about not having anyone in my life, and you'd watch them at home and feel fucking worthless. And that's talking about relationships with no age difference and not—"

"I wouldn't feel worthless," Jonny interrupts. He sounds defeated, flat, and—sad almost. "Did your exes say that?"

There are not a lot of exes in Patrick's life. Did Jonny ever meet any of them? Not that Patrick remembers, and maybe that's for the best.

"Yes, but that's not the point. They were right anyway."

"None of that is your fault."

"It wouldn't be an issue if I came out."

For a moment, he thinks Jonny is going to reach out and shake him. But Jonny only ends up narrowing his eyes and shaking his head.

"That's so fucking stupid to say, Pat. You don't owe that to anyone. No one can expect that from you. _I_ wouldn't expect that."

"Yeah, you're saying that now." Patrick shakes his head before Jonny can open his mouth to protest. It's just one of the many issues, and there's no point in dwelling on it. "I'm just saying that there already are a billion reasons why dating is hard. Add to that the age difference and it becomes impossible."

"I'd still like to find that out myself," Jonny insists. They are really not seeing eye to eye here.

"Fine." Patrick sighs. "When exactly does your dating plan involve telling your dad that we had sex? Because I can assure you that everything is just going to go downhill from there, and there's no point in putting either of us through that."

Or Andrée. She might be even scarier than her husband if she ever hears about what happened between them.

Even if they never see each other again—he had sex with Jonny, no matter how you look at it. And frankly, there's no excuse. It's a secret he shouldn't be hiding from them, but if he tells them—he'd deserve everything Andrée and Bryan would have to say. They've always treated him like a part of their family (oh, the fucking _irony_ ), and Patrick could lose all that, and he'd have only himself to blame.

"My parents want me to be happy," Jonny says slowly, yanking him out of his thoughts. "I'm not saying they'll love it. I know they'll probably be against it. But they want me to be happy, and I think you'll make me happy. And—I think they'd realize that. Eventually."

"They are not going to agree with that."

"Maybe."

"And that's worth it?"

Jonny has always been close to his parents. He shouldn't let anyone destroy that, least of all Patrick.

But the answer comes quickly, with no hesitation to it. "Of course."

"Well, I'm not so sure."

"Good thing they're not your parents then, eh? I don't think it's your decision whether or not it's worth risking that with them."

Jonny is so fucking unbothered.

"They're not my parents," Patrick agrees with a sarcastic smile. "Just two of my closest friends."

Jonny doesn't say anything for a while. 

Patrick can pretty much feel him thinking. And he doesn't know what else to add, so he lets Jonny process it, walking silently next to him, still turning what's left of his coffee cup around in his hands until Jonny huffs out a deep breath.

"I don't know what else to tell you. I don't know what they'll say, but I don't want to make myself unhappy just because my parents might not approve. So, yes, I want this. I want _you_. I want to try, and if it sucks then—I don't know, I guess we'll have to see."

"And it doesn't feel like betraying their trust not to tell them?"

"If I keep seeing you?" Jonny shrugs. "I don't owe it to my parents to tell them that I'm dating someone. I know it's different for you but—I want to be sure before I tell them."

If the current state is not Jonny being sure yet—Jesus.

"And how long exactly will that take?"

"I don't know. Maybe a few weeks."

Patrick has exactly two options here. He can either agree with Jonny's plan or tell him he can't do it and end things right now. He could still decide whether or not to confess everything to Bryan afterward. The choice is as simple as that, and it shouldn't be hard to make the right call. He should just end things now and save them a lot of trouble. It wouldn't be easy, but it would certainly be a lot easier than letting things boil for a while and waiting for them to explode in his face. There are a thousand reasons why it won't work, he had way less complicated relationships fail, and even Jonny can admit that, but—

But Jonny is right there, and it's so, so tempting. Patrick wants to hang out, wants to be around him, and talk, and make out, and build an actual relationship, and see where it takes them. It feels like it could be so good.

They're not touching, not even walking closely beside each other, but it already feels like he's committing a crime.

Patrick inhales. "I'm sorry. For—you're right. I treated you like a kid when I know you're not. And—I'm sorry for pushing you away only to call you back five minutes later and for leaving you hanging. That was shitty."

"Yeah," Jonny agrees softly. "I get it but—yeah."

He's dealing with this entire situation so much better than Patrick that it makes him question if he's really the adult here. It’s sure as hell never felt that way.

"One month," Patrick hears himself say. What the fuck is he doing? "We can't keep this behind their back any longer."

Jonny breaks into a huge, fond smile, and Patrick takes a step back instinctively before they both let something stupid happen. His entire body is yelling at him to just wrap Jonny into his arms.

"So, this is a date?" Jonny asks, his voice very serious, his eyes shiny. 

Patrick laughs. There's still a small pit in his stomach, a nagging reminder that he's risking a lot here. They haven't even discussed what Patrick's family is going to say—Jonny could be their _grandson_ —but he's made a decision and that's such a fucking relief. It's like he's coming back from a long shift on the ice, able to take a deep breath for the first time since the start of a game.

"I guess so."

Jonny's grin just gets wider.

"Can we go to yours, or is that reserved for the second week of dating?"

Patrick balls his hands into fists before he reaches out to kiss the smugness off Jonny's face.

"We can grab food somewhere and eat at mine," he says. 

For a second, he considers asking if Jonny wants to stay for the night. It's tempting. But way too soon. And, whatever Jonny told his parents he's doing right now, harder to explain. 

So, no. Baby steps. 

Patrick can have _some_ patience.

-

They grab sushi on their way back and make it into the kitchen to eat without stopping by the bedroom which feels like a big achievement. Jonny steps behind him when he's grabbing glasses from the cupboards, wraps one arm around his waist, kisses his neck, and Patrick fucking melts into it.

"Stop it or our food will get cold."

"Pat," Jonny says, sounding amused. "We're having _sushi_."

Patrick can feel Jonny's smile against his skin as he steps back, and Patrick regrets having said something in the first place.

"So, just clarifying," he says as they're digging into the first container of sushi. "Andrée and Bryan know you're into guys?"

"Yes, of course." Jonny nods. "That's never been a problem."

Well, one less problem. Now there are only about 99 others that Patrick will lose sleep over.

Jonny cracks a grin. "I think they were pretty happy when I came out. You know, less of a chance of getting someone pregnant."

Patrick laughs at his sheepish face. It's easy to see why teenage pregnancies might have been a concern in the Toews household.

"It's weird to think that my parents already had me when they were my age," Jonny adds with a shrug. "Really blows my mind how much of a shock that must have been."

"Did it ever bother you to know you weren't planned?"

"I never thought much about it. I just grew up knowing it, and it never felt like they didn't want me. And when dad made the NHL when I was so young—it's not like my parents had any kind of financial trouble then. I just think it was hard for them before that, but I obviously don't remember."

"You lived with your grandparents for a while, right?"

Patrick's pretty sure Bryan and Andrée only started living together once they moved to Chicago, but he barely knew Bryan back then and wasn't very interested in his kid. Bryan was an odd guy on the team back then. Not that he was an outsider, but they only had a handful of veterans with kids, and when the young guys went out to party and drink and enjoy the perks of being NHL players, Bryan had diapers to change at home.

"Mom stayed with her parents after I was born," Jonny says. "Dad was about to leave for college when she got pregnant. He offered to drop out and quit hockey, to find a job and support us, but hockey was starting to become an actual possibility for him. So, mom told him to pursue it. She lived at home while he went to school, and dad would try to drive home as often as possible to be around. When he moved to Chicago, mom and I followed." Jonny shrugs again. "I don't remember it obviously. But he often says he missed out on the first two years of my life, and I think—it was a rough time for both of them."

"I never knew he was ready to quit playing."

Did Bryan ever mention that? It seems like a thing Patrick would remember.

Jonny laughs softly. "I'm not sure if he would have been able to go through with it."

Knowing Bryan now, it's a decision he would have regretted for his entire life.

Jonny watches him swallow the last bite of his sushi roll as a sigh leaves his lips. "My parents are great. And they'll be fine with—" He waves his arm around between them, his face twisting. "This."

 _If they decide to do this for real_ , Patrick adds for himself. 

He needs the reminder. 

Maybe he should write it on Jonny's forehead before he forgets every time he looks at him.

Patrick swallows the last bite of sushi and slowly grabs another roll, watching Jonny do the same.

"When do you need to be home?"

Jonny grimaces. "I don't have a curfew, but I can't be too late."

What even is Patrick's life? He thought he was done with _fucking curfews_ at least 15 years ago. And how is none of it a dealbreaker for him?

"We could watch a movie," he says, closing the empty food container. "Or a show. Whatever you prefer."

Anything as long as there's a bit of background noise, something to distract him from Jonny. It feels too daring to drag him to bed immediately, even if Jonny hasn't given him any kind inclination that he would mind. They went headfirst into this entire thing, first at Seabs', then in his kitchen. Better ease into it now. They gave themselves one month to see if this thing can work, and there's no need to rush now.

"I don't really care," Jonny says with a shrug. "Just pick a movie."

He uses the bathroom while Patrick turns on the TV and gets settled on the couch, lazily browsing through the options. It's not like either of them really cares, and Jonny makes a vague sound of approval at his choice when he gets back. For a moment, he hesitates, hovering by the other end of the couch, eying the space next to Patrick, and Patrick's heart flips when Jonny closes the distance between them with a few quick steps. He kisses Patrick, sits down next to him, throwing an arm across his waist, and sighs into his chest, his body a solid weight in Patrick's arms. A hum leaves his lips when Patrick nuzzles his face into Jonny's hair. He starts stroking his hand along Jonny's arm and shoulder as the movie starts, slides his fingers into Jonny's hair and scratches over his scalp until Jonny slides down and puts his head in Patrick's lap, a happy noise leaving his lips.

Patrick's not sure how much Jonny is paying attention to the movie—Patrick sure as hell isn't—and halfway through, Jonny turns his head into Patrick's stomach, whining when Patrick starts to pull his hands away.

"Don't," he mumbles, and Patrick snorts.

"Gonna fall asleep on me?"

"I might."

That way, at least he would have an excuse to keep Jonny here. 

On-screen, something explodes with a bang, and Jonny sighs in response as if the movie is bothering him, his nose pressed to Patrick's belly. 

When Jonny hums, the noise seems to vibrate through Patrick's body—Jonny's face and mouth dangerously close to Patrick's crotch. But he doesn't try to turn his face into it, to push Patrick's shirt to the side or undo his belt. He just sighs again and pulls his legs a little closer to his body. Judging by the sounds coming from the speakers, someone's currently being brutally murdered, but Patrick is too busy watching his fingers slide through the brown strands of hair, and he traces his finger along the line of Jonny's cheekbone, touches the small mole at the corner of his lips and watches Jonny's eyelashes flutter shut.

"We're going on another road trip soon," he says quietly. Jonny makes a soft noise. "I have Sunday off when we get back." Another sound, more rumbly. "We could grab breakfast together."

Jonny pops one eye open."Are you asking me to spend the night on Saturday?"

His voice is soft. Hopeful and shy.

"If you'd like."

"Like you don't know the answer." 

Jonny turns his face back into Patrick's stomach and softly inhales before he pushes himself up to straddle Patrick's lap, forcing Patrick to tip his head back. Jonny's already leaning down to meet him, his lips soft and warm. Another explosion makes Jonny grin into the kiss, his hips rolling forward, while Patrick slides his hands underneath Jonny's shirt, earning an appreciative hum in response.

Patrick suddenly regrets wasting time on a movie that neither of them cared about.

"You have to leave soon," Patrick whispers, dragging his nose along Jonny's throat. 

Jonny's arms tighten around his neck. "I don't care."

"Jon—"

"Don't care," Jonny insists. He tugs on Patrick's hair and slots their mouths back together while the credits start rolling in the background. 

Fuck it, they have another few minutes. 

Patrick groans into the kiss when Jonny bites his lip. "You're gonna be the death of me."

"Good," Jonny mutters, smug. He bites down again, more aggressive but still so incredibly gentle, and Patrick fails to bite back his whimper. It would be so easy to lift Jonny up and carry him into the bedroom. They could make it quick, and Jonny can come up with an excuse why he's so late or—

Another whine slips past his lips when Jonny pulls back, eyes wide.

"I could stay over tonight too." Jonny's panting already. He looks drunk almost. "I can say—"

"No," Patrick interrupts, relieved to find his voice steady. If they have to explain this thing between them to Jonny's parents, they'll have even less ground to stand on when Jonny's been staying away from home. "You have work in the morning," he adds, smiling at Jonny's groan.

"But—" He lets his forehead fall to Patrick's and waits for Patrick to meet his eyes. "Saturday?"

His fingers are still buried in Patrick's hair at the nape of his neck, and he's playing with them, absently curling a few strands around his fingers, all his attention on Patrick.

Patrick swallows.

"Saturday," he repeats softly. "I'm not gonna take that back. Promise."

Jonny's jaw unclenches, his entire posture relaxes, and Patrick tightens his arms around Jonny's body. He can't blame him for thinking Patrick might change his mind, Patrick has been giving him enough reason to be anxious about that. 

With a sigh, Jonny moves off Patrick's lap and Patrick almost tugs him back instinctively, but Jonny is pulling him up, and that's for the best anyway. If Patrick has learned one thing over the past few weeks, it's that he has zero self-control around Jonny.

He should have been in bed an hour ago, and he'll feel the lack of sleep tomorrow on the ice, but who the fuck cares when Jonny kisses him again by the door, Patrick's back pressed to the wall, his fingers curled into the fabric of Jonny's shirt.

"'m gonna eat you out on Sunday," Jonny mutters between two kisses. "Fuck, I wish I could do it right now."

Patrick groans. "Oh my god. Leave."

He shoves at Jonny's chest, and Jonny laughs but kisses him again, his eyes almost all pupil.

"Tell me you'll let me first." 

"Like you don't know the answer," Patrick says weakly, echoing Jonny's words from earlier.

He earns another soft, breathless chuckle.

"I mean it," he adds, giving Jonny another shove. This time, Jonny lets himself be pushed and steps away. "Leave."

He hates himself for asking Jonny to go when Jonny has actually left, leaving the condo too empty and too quiet.


	6. Chapter Six

They don't find a lot of time to talk other than the occasional text. Jonny is usually at work when Patrick's not on the ice, and Patrick can't keep messing with his sleep schedule, especially not when he's on the road and in different time zones. Maybe forcing himself to stick to his regular schedule and routine makes him stay sane and able to face Bryan who's so fucking oblivious to what's going on between his son and teammate, who has no clue that it's Jonny whom Patrick keeps texting.

They win against the Ducks and lose in overtime to the Kings on the road, and the coaching staff is happy enough to grant them their off-day so their plan to grab breakfast together still stands.

Patrick's a little more excited than it is acceptable.

"Gonna be good to get time off, eh?" Bryan says next to him, and Patrick forces himself to grin back.

They get back to Chicago an hour later than planned. Jackie is still waiting for a call back about another family party that their mom is trying to schedule, and Jonny offered to come over with food in an hour or two, so Patrick's rushing back home to have enough time to talk with Jackie before Jonny arrives.

He's too busy wondering what Jonny's family is going to think about the two of them that he hadn’t yet thought about his own family's reaction, and he doesn't need Jackie to know that someone's going to spend the night here. It's an occurrence rare enough that the entire extended Kane family would know about it within five minutes. And he really, really can't have that.

His family is a problem for another day.

"Can you send mom your schedule then?" Jackie asks while Patrick glances at the clock on the wall. He needs to get her off the phone within the next few minutes. "Erica said she'll be busy with work next month, and James might not be able to make it the month after that."

"I'll get it to her," he promises. "Makes no sense to schedule it when not everyone can make it."

"Right, that's what mom thought. Your schedule is the least flexible though."

"I'll make sure she has it." Patrick flops down on the couch and looks back at the clock. "Hey, Jacks. I gotta cut you off. A few of the guys are going to come over."

"Didn't you just get back from a road trip?"

There's a hint of surprise and maybe skepticism in her voice. And it's fair, he's usually happy to be home and get a break from the guys after having been around them for so long.

"Uh, yeah, we're just gonna—" He shrugs. "You know, hang out."

Jackie sighs. "Well, have fun then."

Patrick should feel guilty about not telling her the truth, but if he told her Bryan's son is going to stay the night—he's not sure if she even knows Jonny's name—it would just raise a lot of unnecessary questions.

Still, there's a pit in his stomach until Jonny arrives—dead on time, ten minutes after Patrick's hung up—a duffel bag thrown over his shoulder, a bag of food in his other hand.

"I got pasta," he says when Patrick takes the bag from him. "And cheesecake for dessert."

"You're the best."

"Well, obviously." Smirking, Jonny steals a kiss, hangs up his jacket, and follows Patrick into the kitchen. "My parents think I'm staying with a friend by the way. And before you can ask, yes, my friend's covering for me."

"What does he think you're doing?"

"Uh—hooking up." Jonny grabs glasses from the cupboards for them while Patrick's looking for cutlery, his cheeks a little pink. "I told him I might be seeing someone. He thinks I have a crush on an old classmate, and I didn't bother correcting him."

Jesus Christ. _High school gossip_.

"Should I be jealous?" Patrick jokes, raising one eyebrow at Jonny's smirk.

"Am I here to fuck you or my ex-classmate?"

"I don't know, Jonny," he says teasingly. "You tell me."

Jonny rolls his eyes. "Shut up and eat your pasta."

Patrick laughs, but, this time, they actually got food that does get cold, so he sits down and waits for Jonny's cheeks to go back to a normal color before starting a conversation. It's nice to sit down and talk and to know they have all the time in the world, no one around to bother them until tomorrow.

"Do you want to save the cheesecake for later?" Jonny asks, pushing his empty pasta container to the side. He's looking at Patrick with dark eyes, a burning desire in them, and Patrick doesn't have the willpower to resist that look.

"Yes," he breathes, willingly following Jonny into the bedroom.

Jonny starts digging through his bag to grab a condom while Patrick retrieves the lube from his messy nightstand, and he barely finds the time to close the drawer before Jonny tosses the condom on the mattress. He cups Patrick's face and kisses him, and Patrick melts into his arms. They only pull back from each other's lips to get rid of each layer of clothing—shirts, pants, and finally boxers, and Patrick's breathless by the time they tumble into bed.

"On your stomach," Jonny mutters assertively, his hands already traveling south to Patrick's ass.

"Don't boss me around," Patrick whispers back, but he's already rolling over. His hard cock is trapped between his own body and the mattress, and he could move his hips to get some friction, but Jonny's crawling over already, his body covering Patrick's. The position presses his dick against Patrick's ass, and Patrick groans in response, hips jerking back into the touch.

Jonny starts kissing a trail down his body, from Patrick's neck to his shoulders and along his spine. Patrick knows what's coming, bracing himself for it, but he still moans in surprise when Jonny's big hands spread his cheeks, when Jonny shuffles down and kisses his way to his hole.

"Oh fuck," Patrick blurts out, frantically reaching for the closest pillow to stuff his face into. He gasps when Jonny presses another kiss to the same spot and then licks a stripe along his hole and perineum.

"Yeah?" Jonny asks like can't fucking feel the tremor of Patrick's thighs. Like he doesn't know how everything he ever does works for Patrick. Like he hasn't seen how much Patrick was into the mere _thought_ of him doing this.

"Yeah," he groans into the pillow, probably getting drool all over it. But Jonny is—oh, he's forcing his tongue into Patrick now, and that's just—way too much to handle.

Patrick's breath hitches, failing at biting back a whimper, and Jonny dives right in again, giving Patrick no time to process what's happening. He's kissing and licking, gasping at the fast pace he's setting, only allowing himself to pull back to suck in air. His hands keep squeezing Patrick's cheeks, keeping them spread for his tongue to get as deep as possible, and Patrick feels like he's falling apart under Jonny's hands and mouth. He loses track of time and space and gives himself over to the little zings of pleasure shooting up his spine.

"Jonny," he chokes out. It takes so much strength to lift his head from the pillow, and he's probably slurring the words. "I need you to fuck me."

"Oh," Jonny says.

Like that thought has only just crossed his mind now.

He places another kiss on Patrick's hole and grabs the small bottle, cracking the lid open. Patrick's hole is messy and wet with spit, but Jonny still adds an impressive amount of lube while Patrick pulls his knee closer to his body to offer better access.

Jonny pushes two fingers into Patrick, and, even though he's going slow, giving Patrick time to adjust, it's a stretch, and it hurts enough to make Patrick whimper.

"Sorry, I can—"

"No," Patrick interrupts when Jonny tries to pull his fingers out. "No, keep going. Just lemme—" He pulls his knees underneath his body to push himself up, his muscles unclenching around Jonny's fingers. With his ass in the air, he's fully on display, shivering, and Jonny groans behind him.

"You look so hot."

His voice is so fucking scratchy, and a few drops of precum leave Patrick's dick in response. Every fiber in his body screams at him to jerk off—he needs to come so badly already—but he curls his fingers into the sheets instead and huffs out a deep breath.

"Fucking hurry."

A deep groan leaves Jonny's lips as he pushes his fingers deeper. He's fingering Patrick with desperate urgency, right on the edge of too much, and Patrick has his face pressed into his biceps to muffle his moans until Jonny finally, finally pulls back and tears the condom wrapper open.

Patrick wants to turn and get his mouth on Jonny's, but, before he can move, Jonny grabs his hips and fucks into him, and every other thought is wiped from Patrick's mind.

Jonny is so big inside of him, fits so perfectly into him, and he sets a fast pace right away, his hands tight around Patrick's hips. He's panting, his moans punched-out and desperate, and the weight of Jonny's body is pressing Patrick further into the mattress, legs spread wide, his back arched. With every thrust, Patrick's dick drags along the mattress, the fabric rough and scratchy on the sensitive, swollen tip, and Patrick gasps. He reaches for his cock, but Jonny beats him to it, pushes his hand away, and wraps his fingers around Patrick's hard dick. It jumps at the touch, and Patrick bites into his lip, taking a deep breath. He's so fucking close, and Jonny's somehow not close enough to him.

Patrick reaches behind himself for Jonny's thigh, the muscles flexing under his grip when Jonny gets the hint and shuffles even closer, hips snapping forward. It forces his cock so deep into Patrick that he sees stars, and Jonny wraps an arm around him and pulls him back to meet his thrust, and it's like Jonny's everywhere. Draped against Patrick's back, kissing his neck and shoulder, fingers sliding along Patrick's dick. He's panting right into Patrick's ear, so needy and desperate, and he doesn't even have to move his hand, the movements of his hips are enough to let Patrick's dick fuck into his fist. All Patrick has to do is give himself over to it, let himself melt into Jonny's arms, body shivering with want, so intense that he's dizzy from it, his back arched into a bow.

The bed is shaking around them, Jonny is slamming into him, and Patrick falls apart with a cry. His orgasm knocks the last bit of air out of his lungs, he's getting Jonny's hand and the sheets messy, and he's helplessly gasping for air. He'd collapse into the sheets if it wasn't for Jonny's arms, all the tension leaving his body, the last spurt of cum dripping out of his cock.

"Pat—" Jonny moans behind him, forehead falling to Patrick's shoulder blade. His arms are tight around Patrick's waist, forcing him to stay on Jonny's cock, his ass snug with Jonny's hips. "You're so—oh fuck, so tight."

Patrick might come again if Jonny keeps talking like that, so fascinated and in awe, like he's witnessing a miracle.

He whimpers. "Keep going."

Jonny's nose brushes over his cheek. "Yeah?"

Patrick rocks back on his cock, wincing when he's reminded how sensitive his hole is right now, but Jonny's already fucking back into him, at a slower, more gentle pace, and it's still so good, even when Patrick's barely able to keep himself up. He lets Jonny use his body, tries to rock back but ends up almost falling to the side, and then Jonny's fingers are painfully digging into his hips, and Jonny's dick starts pulsing inside of him. He's coming silently, but Patrick feels his muscles trembling, arms shaking around his body as he follows Patrick over the edge.

They stay like that for another minute, Jonny's body wrapped around him, his face hidden in the curve of his neck.

Patrick has no idea how he ever managed to deny himself this.

When Jonny pulls out he winces, whining shamelessly, and his legs finally give out as he falls face first into the mattress like a puppet whose strings were cut.

Somehow, Jonny has the strength to get up and grab a washcloth, and he runs it along Patrick's spine, gently nudging his legs apart so he can clean his hole, too. Patrick's dick gives a weak twitch when Jonny places one last kiss right where his spine meets the curve of his ass, tosses the cloth back into the sink, and slumps down next to Patrick, his face soft, cheeks pink.

"You're welcome," he says dryly when Patrick wordlessly moves back into Jonny's arms.

"Ugh." His ass hurts, his back is aching and he's still panting. Jonny can cut him some slack here.

Jonny laughs, gently brushes a hand through Patrick's curls, and kisses his forehead.

"I told you you'd like it."

"Yeah." Patrick sighs and pats his chest. "Good job."

Jonny snorts and grabs one of Patrick's hands, lifts it to his face, and presses a kiss to his knuckles, breathing into Patrick's skin.

Maybe Patrick's just not going to let him leave in the morning. He's just going to keep Jonny in his bed forever.

"Kiss me," he demands, and Jonny surges forward to obey.

His big hands are framing Patrick's face, he pulls Patrick on top of him and smiles when Patrick gasps in surprise at the sudden movements, brushing his nose along the stubble on Patrick's cheek to kiss the corner of his mouth. They kiss for so long that Patrick's lips feel numb—lazy and slow until they're mostly breathing against each other's lips, smiling dumbly into the kiss.

Then, Jonny's stomach rumbles, and he pulls back, looking sheepish.

"Cheesecake?" he asks hopefully, and Patrick grins back.

"Yeah."

They'll have to change the sheets before going to bed—there's a giant wet patch right in the middle—but the cheesecake is way too tempting to care about that now. Patrick grabs a new pair of boxers and shamelessly stares at Jonny's naked chest and thick thighs as he does the same.

He's allowed to look now and he's going to take advantage of it.

They eat the cake, watch another movie, and if Patrick lets Jonny fuck him again on the couch halfway through—well, he's watched the movie already, and Jonny doesn't seem to care much about the plot if the way he keeps groping Patrick's butt is any indication.

By the time they finally make it into bed, Patrick's half-asleep, his hole is sore, and he's forgotten every reason why he was ever against this.

Jonny places his head on Patrick's chest, pushes one of his legs between Patrick's and sighs when Patrick strokes his hand along Jonny's back until Jonny's snoring in the dark.

-

He wakes up to Jonny's hard dick poking his thigh and Jonny blinking awake with dark eyes. He looks impossibly young, and Patrick finds himself staring at him for a few seconds. Jonny's grown out his hair a little since they reconnected at the reunion, and there are strands of brown hair gently curling around his temples, falling into his face when he lifts his head and yawns. It feels like Patrick's watching something he isn't supposed to see, something that's secret and beautiful and pure.

He smooths Jonny's hair back, gently rubs his thumb along his lower lip, earning a soft hum and a kiss pressed to his wrist in response.

"Not a morning person, huh?" he mutters when Jonny turns his face back into the pillow.

A deep, sleepy groan leaves Jonny's lips when Patrick slowly rubs his palm along the front of his boxers and kisses his way down Jonny's warm chest to wake him up with a blowjob. He jerks himself off at the same time because Jonny looks too sleepy to be of any kind of help, but Jonny insists on pulling him into a kiss that seems to last forever after they've both come.

They shower together, get ready in comfortable silence, and Jonny watches him with soft eyes when Patrick cards his fingers through his wild, unruly curls.

"You look really pretty like that," he says, and Patrick stops, blinking at his reflection in the mirror. His hair is sticking in all directions, his forehead is ridiculously huge, and he just looks tired with all the wrinkles around his eyes. Jonny frowns at the expression on his face. "No, you do. Stop looking like that."

He steps behind Patrick, swats his hands away, and tucks a loose curl behind his ear.

"You should use less gel," he adds. "It just makes you look older."

Maybe Jonny would get along better with Patrick's sisters than he thought. That's kind of a terrifying idea.

He drops his hand with a sigh, and Jonny laughs softly while he grabs the bottle of gel and applies a very tiny amount with the tips of his fingers. The way he looks at Patrick, fond and soft, forces Patrick to hold onto the sink while he lets Jonny comb his hair.

"Better," he announces after a minute, taking a step back. His hands slide down to Patrick's waist, pulling him closer, and he hooks his chin over Patrick's shoulder to grin back at him in the mirror.

Patrick has to tear his gaze away and clear his throat.

"Thanks," he says softly, placing a gentle peck on Jonny's cheek. "Breakfast, c'mon."

-

The Hawks are leaving town for a longer road trip just a few days later, and finding the time to talk to Jonny suddenly gets even harder. It's probably the universe's way of punishing Patrick and, frankly, he'd deserve it. He eventually finds himself on the road, sitting in his hotel room, longing for Jonny's company, feeling lonely despite the entire team being around.

He barely allows himself to talk to Jonny when Bryan could overhear their phone calls, and it takes way too long for them to text each other back. Jonny's family is thinking about going on a weekend trip when the Hawks have a few days off, so Patrick doesn't even bother getting his hopes up that they might have more time for each other then.

Patrick still has airplane mode enabled when he lets himself into his condo, and he absently turns it off to see if maybe Jonny can come over for a few hours on the weekend.

His phone display lights up, and Patrick freezes.

He has five missed calls from his mom, three from Erica, and another two from Jackie. The last one is from 20 minutes ago, and Patrick doesn't bother checking his voicemails. He just hits the call button, not even pausing to double-check which of them he's calling back as he presses his phone to his ear, clutching the device between his trembling fingers, anxiously pacing across the living room.

It takes forever for the call to connect.

Patrick's heart is beating so fast that he's out of breath from walking around his living room in circles, his hands are shaking so badly that he's scared of dropping the phone, and he tries very hard not to think about why Jess is the only one who didn't reach out.

What if she—

"Patrick," his mom says, her voice full of relief that he's called. "You're off the plane."

"I just got home. Mom, what is—"

"Don't freak out, okay?" she says in a soothing tone that suggests that he should be freaking out. "Everyone is fine, we're all—"

"Mom!"

She makes a soft noise. "Jess had an accident earlier—she is _fine_ , Patrick. She's okay. But she crashed her car, her friend was with her and called earlier to let us know."

Patrick balls his hands into fists, trying to dig his fingernails into the flesh of his palm, but they're too short to make it hurt.

He inhales, focusing on the one thing—she's okay.

Jess is okay.

"What—" His voice cracks. "What happened?"

"I don't know yet," she says. "They were driving to the mall. I think someone crashed into them, but I haven't talked to her yet. They took her to the hospital but it looks like she's only a little bruised up. She might have a concussion, but it's not that bad. She's gonna be fine, I promise, Pat."

Patrick takes another deep breath. He might throw up.

"I don't know anything else yet," she adds. "But it looks like we can pick her up later."

"Can you—tell her to call me when she's home?"

His mom wouldn't lie to him about something so serious, not even if it's to calm him down, but he won't believe that Jess is fine until he's heard it straight from her.

"Of course," she says. "I'll let her know. Please don't worry too much about it."

There's no reason to freak out. Jess is in good hands, and it seems like the shock and a few minor bruises are the only reason for concern, but he still feels sick about it. His little sister was in an accident, she's currently in the hospital, and he's sitting around in Chicago, uselessly pacing around his living room.

Patrick unpacks his bags, checks his emails, and makes sure he's got next week's training schedule. He changes out of his suit and into sweatpants and sorts through a few piles of magazines in the living room. After throwing a few old newspapers into the trash, Patrick folds up his blanket, draping it over the armrest of the couch.

When he checks his phone, there are no new messages—not that he could have missed any with how much he's been glancing at the screen as he was doing his chores. There's no point in calling again, it's barely been 20 minutes, Jess is probably still at the hospital, and there's nothing else his mom could tell him, but Patrick's still jittery and shaky, and the apartment feels too empty and cold.

He calls Jonny.

"Hi." A door falls shut on the other end of the line, voices being muffled as if Jonny is moving away from people.

Patrick bites his lip. He didn't think this through.

"What's up?" Jonny asks, his voice wary when Patrick stays silent. "Pat, what's wrong?"

It feels stupid now that he called. There's nothing Jonny can do, no way for him to make it better—hell, the accident wasn't even big enough to be so freaked out—but just hearing his voice makes Patrick's heart beat a little slower.

"Nothing, really," he answers. "Just—my sister had a car accident earlier, and—"

"Oh fuck," Jonny interrupts. "Is she okay?"

"Yeah, she's fine. It's not that bad. I'm just—"

"Worried?" Jonny adds for him, his voice soft as if Patrick isn't being stupid.

He huffs out an unhappy laugh. "Yeah."

"Do you want me to come over?"

_Yes_.

"You don't have to—"

"I can," Jonny insists. "Half an hour, okay?"

Patrick is too selfish to say no.

"Okay," he mutters back, his hand a little less shaky when he hangs up.

-

His doorbell rings 25 minutes later, and Jonny wordlessly wraps his arms around him, kicking the front door shut behind himself as he gently forces his way into the condo. Patrick stuffs his face into the crook of Jonny's neck, catching a whiff of his fresh aftershave, his shoulders dropping when Jonny smooths a hand down his back.

While hearing Jonny's voice on the phone was soothing, having Jonny here in person is almost therapeutic. He bosses Patrick into the living room and grabs a bottle of Gatorade from the kitchen before pulling Patrick back into his arms on the couch, Patrick's head resting on Jonny's chest with one of Jonny's hands tangled into his hair. The TV is playing in the background, and Patrick might keep glancing over at the couch table where his phone is lying, but he's calmer now, his nose pressed into the soft, washed-out fabric of Jonny's shirt.

Patrick's still curled up in Jonny's arms when his phone finally rings, both of them flinching at the same time. Patrick scrambles up immediately, almost accidentally rejecting the call while trying to pick up his phone as quickly as possible, Jess' name greeting him on the display.

"Are you okay?" he asks without bothering to wait for a greeting. Then, when he remembers that she might be concussed and that yelling at her might not be the most sensible thing, follows it up with an apologetic noise. "Sorry, just—fuck, you scared me."

"Sorry," Jess says, and Patrick exhales his relief that her voice is steady and firm, that she isn't slurring her words or sounding like she's heavenly drugged up. "Mom shouldn't have called you that much, but I think she wanted to make sure that you know that it's nothing serious."

"Are you home?"

She hums back, and Patrick sighs at the confirmation, glancing back at Jonny who's been watching him with his brows furrowed, concern in his eyes. When Patrick offers a smile, Jonny grins back, attempting to roll over and move away to leave the living room, but Patrick is faster, sinking back into Jonny's arms, effectively keeping him from leaving.

"What did the doctors say?" he asks, helplessly smiling into Jonny's shirt when Jonny wraps his arm around Patrick again.

Jess, of course, has absolutely no clue what's going on at the other end of the line as she answers.

"It's just a mild concussion. I was scared I might have cracked a few ribs, but I only have a few bruises. My head hurts, but they gave me meds, and I'm okay now. I swear."

Patrick's met enough hockey players to know better than thinking that a concussion is harmless and no big deal, but Jess sounds healthy, not like she's just faking it to calm him down.

"And here I was thinking I'd be the one who's at risk of ending up with a messed-up brain," he jokes, earning a soft, dry chuckle from his sister and a fond eye roll from Jonny.

"That's what Erica said." Jess laughs again. "But it's not that bad. You don't need to worry about me, okay?"

"I’ll worry as much as I want."

She hums, and Patrick can hear the smile in her voice. "Well, don't. You're just wasting your energy here."

"Text me though. Or—wait, call me. You shouldn't be staring at a bright phone screen."

Jess snorts so loudly that there's no way Jonny doesn't overhear the noise, and he's still smirking when Patrick hangs up, stealing a short kiss before he tosses his phone back onto the couch table.

"Everything okay?" Jonny asks, gently bumping his nose against Patrick's.

"Yeah, she's fine. I was just—"

"In shock," Jonny adds for him, and Patrick nods.

Maybe he'd feel guilty for overreacting and making Jonny drop everything to come over, but Jonny doesn't look like he minds and, truth is, Patrick is selfishly happy that he gets to have Jonny here, his arms still tightly wrapped around Patrick's body.

"How long can you stay?"

"Probably for another hour, maybe two."

It's better than nothing, even if it would have been nice to eat dinner together.

"Thanks for coming over."

"Anytime," Jonny mutters back. "That's what I'm here for, eh?"

If only it was that easy, if Patrick could agree without the tiny zing of guilt stabbing his heart.

But he gets to relax now, to take a deep breath and melt into Jonny's arms, to know that Jonny is there, that Jonny has his back, and it's nice to feel like it's okay to close his eyes and enjoy the sensation of Jonny's fingers running through his hair. That it's okay not to be in control of his emotions for just one evening.

He lifts his head, dropping a kiss to the first inch of naked skin he can reach, the spot just below Jonny's collarbone where his shirt has been pulled down.

"Thanks," he whispers, his eyelids fluttering shut as Jonny curls his fingers around his neck.


	7. Chapter Seven

Time passes way too quickly. Patrick tries not to think too much about the month they've allowed themselves to have—or worse, about what happens after those four weeks—but it's as if he's never been more aware of each day passing by. Part of Patrick wishes the Hawks would be on the road in Buffalo so that he could pay his family a visit and make sure that Jess is okay—especially after she sends him the pictures of the wrecked car that make him even more grateful that she got away with nothing but a mild concussion. But another, more selfish part of Patrick is happy about the few days in Chicago, especially when Jonny suggests grabbing coffee in the city and spending the night together at Patrick's.

It's surprisingly nice to be in public with Jonny, feeling like it's the most normal thing in the world to hang out with him, like there's absolutely nothing to it, as if they aren't hiding from Jonny's parents and everything else Patrick's so scared of. Still, there are a few small moments where it's getting harder and harder to ignore the inevitable end of this secret life they're living—when Jonny presses a small kiss to Patrick's cheek before climbing out of the car, when Jonny laughs about one of Patrick's stupid jokes, forcing Patrick to turn his head away before he can lean over and kiss him, when they get into a heated debate about last night's Jets game that makes Patrick want to kiss the smug grin off his face. Eventually, he'll have to come to terms with the fact that they can't keep secretly hanging out, and he'll have to do _something_ about it.

Whatever that may be.

"I've been thinking a little more about college again," Jonny says later, already curled up underneath the blanket on Patrick's bed.

"Oh yeah?"

"Mh." Jonny rolls over when Patrick gets out of the bathroom, his eyes soft. He lifts the blanket for Patrick, pressing a kiss to his naked shoulder. "I don't know—I guess I've just been considering a few things lately."

He flicks off the lights, shuffling around in the dark until his chin is resting on Patrick's chest, one of his legs tangled in between Patrick's.

"I really like the internship," he adds after a minute, his voice rough the dark. "And—I'm scared that I still don't know what I want to do with my life once it ends. I guess I'll return to college. I'll have a little more time before I have to settle on a major, and I have a few more ideas now."

"But—" Patrick prompts, his fingertips following the line of Jonny's spine.

"But it still freaks me out that I'll have to make that decision. That maybe it could be the wrong one, that I'm gonna make myself unhappy."

"Even if it is," Patrick says. "What's the worst that could happen? You're still so fucking young, there'll be plenty of time to do something else. I don't think your parents are gonna kick you out if it's the wrong choice or if it takes you a little longer to figure it out."

Jonny huffs out a deep breath, the air tickling Patrick's bare skin, and he smiles even though it's too dark for Jonny to see.

"I guess," Jonny mutters. "Have you ever—I mean, do you have any idea about what comes after hockey?"

Patrick lets his head fall back into the pillow, squeezing his eyes shut.

He's briefly thought about it; there's been more than one conversation with Sharpy and enough hints from the Blackhawks to know that there's a job at the front office waiting for him if he wants it—but Patrick's never really allowed himself to think that far ahead. He always knew that he'd play for as long as possible and thinking about a possible end just seems to make it more inevitable. And he's not ready for that; not yet.

"It's scary to think about a time after hockey," he admits softly. "I don't know how you do it."

That earns him a small chuckle. "I'm clearly not doing a great job at it."

"You're doing fine, and you're gonna figure it out. You said you enjoyed college, so—I don't think that's gonna change."

"Sure, but—" Jonny interrupts himself to lower his head, lips brushing across Patrick's face. "College is kinda far away from Chicago. And you'll be—"

"No," Patrick cuts in.

"What?"

"No," he repeats. "You're not going to suggest dropping out to find something closer to Chicago because of me."

For a second, Jonny is silent, then he huffs out another breath.

"Maybe I was gonna say that I want to be closer to my family."

"We both know you weren't going to." The stern, stubborn silence that he earns in response is enough for him to grin, shaking his head. "Look, Jonny. You absolutely shouldn't even think about that. You know it would be stupid, so _don't_ , okay?"

Even if this thing between them wasn't hanging in the air, it would be way too soon and way too much. Jonny knows that because he exhales and sighs, wordlessly dropping another kiss to Patrick's chest.

"I guess I'm just thinking about a few things."

Patrick's stomach tightens. He knows he has to, but it's too easy and too convenient to live in this blissful state of ignorance where he can pretend that nothing outside of this condo matters.

"I know."

"It's—I keep forgetting that it can't always be like this," Jonny adds, his lips moving his way up Patrick's chest, soft, featherlight kisses pressed to his warm skin until Jonny reaches Patrick's chin, his cheekbone, the corner of his mouth. He lingers there for a second like he's waiting for something.

He is—Patrick knows he is—and Jonny deserves an answer. He deserves more from Patrick, but Patrick can't give him that right now.

He turns his head, finding Jonny's lips with his, relief hitting him that Jonny kisses back, that he doesn't insist on an answer.

Patrick flips them over, using the moment of surprise to deepen the kiss as he slides in between Jonny's spread legs, cupping Jonny's face. Jonny's already pulling him closer, one of his hands tangled in Patrick's hair, the other sliding along his back, and Patrick means to roll his hips, to get his hands on Jonny's chest and his thick thighs and underneath his boxers. But he ends up collapsing, trusting Jonny to catch him, the urge overwhelmingly strong to be in Jonny's arms and to have Jonny in his.

He tucks his face into the curve of Jonny's neck and breathes in. Jonny had a shower earlier, and he must have used Patrick's shampoo because the scent is very familiar, and Patrick pushes his nose into it to take another inhale.

"You know what my mom said the other day?" Jonny asks after another minute. "When I talked to her about college?"

There's a smile in his voice but a hint of something else, too. Something much like the tone he sometimes used before that first kiss, when he was trying to tell Patrick something, a not so subtle hint that there was more to what he's saying.

"No, what was it?"

"She thinks, and I'm quoting here, that you're a good influence. I mentioned that you helped me with my college decision a while back, that it was helpful to talk to you, and—" Jonny shrugs. "I guess she was pretty happy about that."

That doesn't exactly help with the guilt that's constantly nagging at him. If Andrée knew that it stopped being harmless conversations weeks ago, that there are so many things that she doesn’t know, she certainly wouldn't consider him _a good influence_.

He hides his face in Jonny's chest even though Jonny can't see how red his face must be. Maybe that's why Jonny is telling him about it, maybe he just wants to see how Patrick will react or maybe he wants to tease him, but Patrick's chest feels tight and breathing is suddenly a lot harder.

"She wouldn’t say that if she knew," he finally mutters. "She shouldn't be fucking saying that."

"But she did." Jonny's hand slides into his curls, tucking a strand of hair behind Patrick's ear. "She sees that I'm really fucking happy, and she might not know why, but she can see it. And—I think that's worth something."

Patrick stays silent, but he can't bring himself to lift his head either. There's no point in going over the same stuff again and again. The end of the deadline they set for themselves is too close to be comfortable, and Patrick should be more concerned about what's happening after that, but it's so hard to remind himself of that when Jonny's fingers are gently sliding through his hair, scratching over his scalp, sending fuzzy tingles down his back.

"Maybe," he says after a while. "But that doesn't really change the fact that there is more than just one reason for why this should never work."

Jonny's fingers move to the hair at the nape of Patrick's neck, softly twisting a few curls around his fingers.

"Wasn't the entire point of this month to see if it could work?" he asks then. "You wanted to give us time, so you can be sure about it, and—I was sure even before. I knew I wanted to do this. I still do."

If only wanting to was the problem. It would make things a lot easier.

"But it hasn't even been a month," he whispers. "There's so many other things that you're signing up for. And I don't want to waste your time until you decide that you can't do it anymore."

"I will never ask you to come out for me," Jonny says. Patrick knows there's a frown on his face, even without being able to see it. "I know what it will be like. I know what happens when people stick their noses into a hockey player's private life. I know how much that sucks. I know what I'm signing up for, and I'm not going to decide that it's too much."

"But—"

"Patrick, I _grew up_ knowing that hockey comes first. You don't know what it's like when your dad can never be there for your birthday or your school parties because of hockey. You don't know how much that sucked when I was a kid. But I never hated hockey for it. I understood why it was worth it. And I was ready to do the same. I know why you're making those sacrifices, and I'm never gonna hold that against you. So, if someone gets it, I think it's me."

Jonny's voice is still soft, but he doesn't bother hiding his frustration now. And—he's right, at least partially. None of the guys Patrick has dated ever understood. All of his exes thought they were sacrificing openly dating their boyfriend for nothing but a stupid game that took their partner away from them for way too much time, but Jonny has lived it his entire life. It might be different, but he knows what he's getting himself into more than anyone Patrick's ever met.

Patrick should be fighting the tiny spark of hope inside of him, but he finds himself holding onto the thought, letting himself believe it, even if he can only uphold the illusion for this one night.

He rests his forehead against Jonny's, but even when he's close enough to feel Jonny's warm breath on his skin, it's too dark to see the expression on Jonny's face.

"If you want to return to college," he starts softly, pressing a kiss to the corner of Jonny's mouth. "You need to make that decision without thinking about me, okay? It's going to suck when you're so far away, but—that's not a dealbreaker for me. That's—we could make that work."

It's not the commitment Jonny deserves, but it's the only kind of promise he can let himself make yet.

Maybe it's enough for now because Jonny nods, turning his hand to steal another kiss before he scoots down on the bed, pulling Patrick with him, his arms tightening around Patrick's body.

"It's almost been a month," he whispers, bumping his nose against Patrick's. "And you said—"

"I know," he interrupts. "Jonny, I know."

It's not like he can forget that very often.

He doesn't expect Jonny to let the topic go—knowing when to back off clearly isn't Jonny's strength—but then Jonny sighs, nosing along Patrick's jawline before capturing Patrick's lips in a kiss that lasts long enough for Patrick's lips to go numb. His leg has fallen asleep, but Jonny's hand is tangled in Patrick's hair again, refusing to let him pull away, and Patrick ignores the tingly sensation until he's half-asleep, curled up on Jonny's chest, his lips still close enough to Jonny's that they're breathing in the same air.

-

Patrick wakes up to Jonny sitting in bed next to him, reading through an article on his phone that he puts down as soon as he realizes that Patrick's awake. He couldn’t have been awake for long—there's still the imprint of the pillow on his cheek—and Patrick moves over with a yawn, resting his head on Jonny's thigh.

"Hungry?" he asks.

Jonny shrugs, gently poking his thumb into Patrick's dimple. "Sure."

Patrick grabbed eggs and bacon yesterday when he was grocery shopping so that they could have a big breakfast before he has to let Jonny go again, and it feels so fucking easy and domestic to scramble eggs and prepare breakfast together. Jonny keeps touching and kissing him as they move around each other, and Patrick must be staring at him too often to be appropriate, but Jonny just grins back like he enjoys the attention.

"Am I going to see you at family skate next week?" Patrick asks while Jonny hooks his foot around Patrick's ankle underneath the table.

He's been doing a good job at not thinking too much about the upcoming skate. They've managed to avoid being around other people together since the day at Seabs' house, and Patrick's not sure if he's looking forward to spending time with Jonny—even with others around—or if he's secretly hoping Jonny won't be there.

Either way, Jonny shoots him a happy, relaxed grin. "Yeah, of course. I want to skate with you again."

Not only will there be all the players and families around, the Hawks PR people will also take pictures and videos, and—as much as Patrick wants to skate with Jonny—he's dreading it already. He feels uneasy enough when he knows that there are cameras on him away from the ice, but with Jonny around—there's just no way either of them will be able to be subtle about the entire thing.

Maybe Jonny's reading his thoughts because a shadow runs across his face, and he turns his head to look at Patrick, absently pushing his fork into a piece of egg.

"It's gonna be fine."

Sometimes he can't help but wonder where Jonny gets his optimism.

Patrick shrugs.

They should probably talk about it, but he's been living in this peaceful, happy bubble all morning, and he doesn't want it to burst. Reality is gonna hit him soon enough, there's no need to keep spoiling the mood before that. He couldn't bring himself to face the reality at night—that the deadline that they set for themselves is going to be there way too soon—and it's not any easier to bring himself to think about it in the light of the day.

Jonny just keeps frowning at him. Patrick hates it when he does that, when he makes Patrick feel like he's the teenager here, when it seems like Jonny has his shit together in a way Patrick doesn't.

It looks like Jonny wants to protest, but Patrick beats him to it, shaking his head, pressing a kiss to Jonny's lips before he can push another bite into his mouth. Jonny must be looking for something in his face when he pulls back, and he seems to find it because he sighs and rests his head on Patrick's shoulder, moving a little closer.

"I just want to have a good time," he says after a short moment of silence, shrugging, not pulling away. "It's nice when everyone is together."

"Yeah," Patrick agrees, a deep sigh slipping past his lips.

He can't expect Jonny to stay home and miss out on the skate, and it's not like he's planning on kissing Jonny at center ice.

They'll be fine, and, once the skate is over, maybe he can bring himself to consider his options about finally manning up and taking accountability for having slept with Jonny.


	8. Chapter Eight

Patrick is way too early for family skate, and he's jittery in a way he hasn't been since pulling up in front of Seabs' house for dinner with the core. He keeps looking up in the locker room, always expecting Jonny to be the next person to show up. When Jonny finally arrives, he grins at Patrick, his eyes shining with a secret only they share. Patrick allows himself to smile back for about one second before David follows Jonny into the room, skates dangling from his hands, an excited smile on his lips.

When they hit the ice, Jonny plays with the boys for a while, and Patrick absolutely does not keep glancing over to watch how he lets the boys score on him, his face beaming whenever one of the kids proudly raises their arms in celebration. It takes so much not to skate over and kiss him right there in front of everyone.

Patrick's hanging out with Stromer and Brinksy halfway through the skate when he sees Jonny on his own by the bench, and he's found an excuse to exit the conversation before he's even made the conscious decision to leave.

"Hey." He nudges Jonny's shoulders. "Are you on babysitting duty?"

Jonny lets out a deep sigh without bothering to hide his fond smile. "I'm always on babysitting duty here."

He's right, the kids gather around him as soon as he turns up whenever everyone gets together.

"Need any help with the kids?"

"No, but you can still come and join us."

Patrick laughs and, since he can't kiss him, settles on nudging Jonny's shoulder and following him back over to join David, Carter, and Colton. They play 3 on 2 for a while which is not very fair, but neither Jonny nor Patrick are really trying. Duncs and Seabs join them eventually, and they play until the end of skate, even if Patrick wishes they had more time. The way Jonny interacts with the kids, like he's the big brother of every single one of them, does funny things to his stomach and makes him unable to tear his eyes away.

It's never been a lie to say that the Hawks are like one big family, and it feels like a family party when everyone gets back into the locker room to undress, the room filled with laughter and loud banter. Everyone hangs out inside for a while, kids running around, shooting plastic balls and pucks, mothers and fathers running behind them.

Patrick's unlacing his skates when he catches Jonny's gaze at the other side of the room, and something in Jonny's eyes makes him look up. It's the way Jonny looks at him, just like he had looked back in Patrick's bedroom—intense and hungry, all his attention solely on Patrick—that makes Patrick pause, a shiver running down his spine. Only Jonny would be able to make him feel that way without even touching him or being anywhere near him.

Jonny gets up slowly, walks across the room to the door, glancing back at Patrick again, and Patrick knows a silent invitation when he sees one. All he can do is helplessly stare at Jonny's back before he disappears, heart pounding in his chest.

He shouldn't.

He should still be sending daily prayers to heaven that nobody ever caught them at Seabs' house, and he should stay where he is like an adult with some self-control.

But, when it comes to Jonny, he's lost the tiny bit of self-control that he had weeks ago.

Patrick gets up casually, slips into his sneakers, and pretends to grin at Sharpy's joke like everyone else in the crowded room.

He's only getting up to talk, he tells himself. Nothing wrong or weird about that. He can totally manage to keep his hands off Jonny.

The hallway is empty except for the small door at the other end of it, and since nobody is here—maybe he can steal a short kiss and ask Jonny to meet up for coffee tomorrow.

He slips into the room and finds himself in a tight hug and a kiss one second later.

His small yelp gets muffled by Jonny's lips, and—well, okay, they can drag the kiss out a little.

Jonny's grinning against his lips, and Patrick grins back, tumbling back so his back is pressed to the wall, and Jonny crowds him against it. Patrick makes a soft, appreciative sound, sliding his fingers into Jonny's hair, pulling his head closer to deepen the kiss.

"We need to get back," Patrick mutters after what feels like ten seconds, but is probably closer to two minutes. "They're gonna wonder and—"

"Everyone is inside." Jonny kisses his cheek and presses his nose to it like he's trying to inhale Patrick's scent. "No one's gonna notice or care."

He's right, but—

"Still, we can't—" Patrick turns his face for another kiss, and Jonny hums, bracing himself up against the wall with one hand as if he's scared Patrick could try to move to the side. His lips meet Patrick's again, more aggressive this time, way less gentle. Patrick should push him away. This is taking such a wrong, dangerous turn, and he wants to bring his hands to Jonny's chest, but he never gets that far.

The lights switch on as the door is pushed open, and Patrick freezes.

 _Fuck_.

Oh fuck.

Jonny stumbles back, and Patrick watches his eyes widen before his head snaps to the door and—

Patrick's heart sinks. It's like being on a breakaway and having the edge of his skate catch on a hole in the ice, stumbling and losing the puck. It's like scoring on his own goal with the goalie pulled on their own powerplay. It's that same deep feeling of having fucked up, that he's watching the aftermath of the fuck-up, unable to do anything about it now.

He is so, so screwed.

"Dad," Jonny blurts out. "Dad, please don't—let me talk, okay? Let me explain and—"

Bryan takes a step back, his face so fucking blank. Patrick's seen him in so many bad situations—after devastating losses, when he's been missing his family on long roadtrips, during career-threatening injuries, in fights that seemed like the end of their friendship—and he's never been unable to see anything at all in Bryan's face.

He turns from his son to Patrick and back to Jonny, and Patrick can't do anything but watch the scene unfold as if he isn't in the middle of it.

"Get outside and wait in the car," Bryan says, his voice unnervingly quiet.

"Dad," Jonny tries again, eyes snapping back to Patrick's for the tiniest second. "Please, just let us—"

"Get in the car," Bryan repeats, emphasizing every word. "Now, Jonathan."

"Bryan," Patrick tries weakly, and that's probably the stupidest thing he could have done.

Bryan turns to him, and Patrick flinches at the death stare that's directed at him.

The guy in front of him is one of his closest friends, they went through so much over the last 15 years, but he feels like a stranger now.

"Don't talk to me, Kaner," he says coolly with such a disgusted look in his eyes that Patrick feels sick from it.

Bryan turns without a second look, and he ignores Jonny's soft plea to stay and talk and Patrick just—he exhales, and his knees feel so wobbly he's surprised he hasn't crumbled to the floor yet.

"Pat," Jonny says, panicked and rushed and somehow still so soft.

"Go," Patrick interrupts, forcing the words out. His voice sounds high-pitched and weak. "Jonny, please— _go_."

What were they thinking in the first place? They got away with so much already, how could they be so stupid and reckless and make out with everyone right next door?

"Pat—"

"Please, Jonny," he interrupts, barely able to look at him. "Don't—just go. Don't make it worse, don't make him come back, okay? Please, just leave."

He wouldn't put it past Bryan to punch both of them if he has to drag Jonny out of here. And there's no point in making it worse for either Bryan or them.

Jonny takes another look at him, and, for the first time in a long time, Patrick can see how fucking young he is, fear and anxiety written all over his face, mixed in with the fierce determination that Patrick's gotten so used to.

"I love you," Jonny says, and Patrick actually whimpers when Jonny places another gentle kiss on his lips before he leaves.

Patrick wants to yell at him to come back while relief floats through his body at the same time, and he lets his head fall back against the wall, the impact hard enough to make his skull throb and his eyes water.

Maybe he just gave himself a concussion, but even that doesn't make him want Jonny any less, doesn't seem to be enough to knock some sense into him.

His face is burning with shame. He just lost his best friend and messed up the entire team for—not for a crush, but for a thing that never had any future. And he's got no one but himself to blame. Even worse, a stubborn, sullen part of himself would never regret the time with Jonny for anything.

He drags himself off the floor after probably an hour, rubs over his forehead and cheeks to give his face a more natural color, and takes a deep breath. He will walk back into the locker room and fake a smile. He will grab his bag and leave, and no one will care. If anyone asks, he's not feeling great, he might be coming down with something. He will not look around to see if Andrée and David are still around.

The room is still bright with laughter, and it feels like the universe is trying to mock him with the cheerful mood around him while he collects his bag. No one cares, no one bats an eye, no one tries saying anything when he leaves.

Somehow, he gets behind the wheel of his car and drives home without missing a red light and accidentally getting himself killed, and once Patrick's home, he lies on the couch and stares at the ceiling, wondering if he's going to puke.

-

The next morning is unsettlingly normal. The building should be collapsing around him, but instead, his alarm goes off like on any other day. He checks his phone and gets up to eat and shower and double-checks his schedule.

Morning skate. Lunch. Team meeting. Nothing out of the ordinary.

Everything is normal and yet, nothing is the way it was just a few weeks ago.

He showers and remembers Jonny kissing him in this exact spot underneath the spray. He eats breakfast and remembers Jonny arguing about his favorite cereal. Jonny's words are always there at the back of his mind, the _I love you_ echoing in his head whatever he does.

Patrick misses his presence already, and he hates himself for still wanting Jonny.

It's _wrong_.

He shouldn't.

And yet—

Jonny must be in hell with his parents—he hasn't tried reaching out, neither have Bryan or Andrée, and Patrick stares at his phone for a few minutes, but he doesn't have the balls to hit the call button. He would make it worse for Jonny. After not being mature enough to stop this thing between them earlier, he owes it to Jonny to let the family deal with this on their own.

Nothing Patrick has to say would change anything.

At some point, he'll have to explain this mess to his family. Probably Sharpy and their friends, too. He can only hope they won't somehow hear about it from someone else. He'll have to apologize to Andrée and Bryan.

But it's way too soon. All he can do for now is wait and let them deal with it and try not to make it worse. He already has fucked up enough.

-

Bryan ignores him at morning skate. Patrick finds himself looking over sometimes, but Bryan never looks back, and he's clearly doing his best to avoid Patrick. It's the best outcome Patrick could be hoping for right now, and he certainly deserves Bryan giving him the cold shoulder but that doesn't make it hurt any less. They've been through so much together, Patrick's always been able to count on Bryan, and—Bryan's always been able to count on him, too.

Until Patrick showed him that he shouldn't be trusted.

He drives home for lunch and drags himself back for the team meeting even though he just feels more exhausted after his nap. The meeting goes the way it usually does except that Bryan won’t look at him and acts like Patrick doesn't exist.

Of course, Patrick ends up next to Bryan as they all clear out together and make their way to the cars. Of course, everyone else is parked close to the entrance, and Bryan is the only one who has to walk to the other end of the parking lot with him. It's just that kind of day, and Patrick feels sick when Bryan makes a point of putting more space between them. The silence is deafening, and Patrick feels uncomfortable in a way he never has around Bryan. He didn't think it was possible to feel so uneasy in Bryan's presence.

"Tazer, I—" he starts, unsure how he wants to finish the sentence. But he needs to say _something_ , he needs to explain, to tell Bryan himself that he never—what? That he didn't prey on his son? Didn't seduce him? Didn't manipulate him into anything? He's not sure. There isn't any way to justify what he did.

"Don't," Bryan says sharply. They've reached his truck now, and he stops abruptly, folding his arms across his chest. Patrick's never felt so small in his presence. "Just—be quiet, okay?"

"I just—"

"And don’t talk to my family," Bryan adds. "I don't have anything to say to you."

Patrick's stomach drops. He slept with Bryan's son, broke his trust, basically threw their friendship into the trash. Respecting this one wish is the least he can do.

"Okay," he whispers, and maybe he's hoping for Bryan to say something else, to change his mind, but Bryan nods shortly and gets into the car.

Patrick wants to say he's sorry because that's the truth—he's so fucking sorry for how it all went down, that Bryan had to find out that way—but Bryan wouldn't want to hear it.

-

Somehow, he makes it through the next few days. Bryan avoids him, he doesn't hear from Jonny, and his mind refuses to calm down. The way Jonny stayed back for another second to kiss him, to tell Patrick that he loves him—it was so sure and confident, and it just doesn't seem like Jonny not to reach out now. He was constantly reaching out when a part of Patrick was still trying to keep him away, and the sudden silence and lack of contact is unsettling, especially now that Patrick is longing for nothing more than being in Jonny's arms.

Bryan and Andrée aren't monsters. They don't have Jonny chained to an old bed frame in the basement, but Patrick's mind won't stop wondering why Jonny won’t send a quick text.

Nothing happens but he's still on edge, waiting for the other shoe to drop.

It does finally, one week later during practice.

They have their usual scrimmage, and Bryan's on the other team and it feels like he's glued to Patrick. Maybe it's his nerves or imagination, but Bryan keeps pushing and slashing him, the hits dangerously close to his wrists. Patrick swallows it down—Bryan's always been passionate and competitive, even during practice—but it pisses him off, and it's skirting the edge of getting someone hurt and injured. Patrick puts the puck behind the goalie with a spin-o-rama around Bryan that makes the guys cheer while Bryan looks like he's ready to break his stick on Patrick's skull.

During the next shift, Bryan checks him into the boards, harder than necessary, and Patrick stumbles, still trying to find his balance when Bryan shoves him again, and that one catches him in a vulnerable position, and he falls awkwardly into the boards.

"What the fuck, man?" he hisses, pain shooting through his shoulder while he rolls over.

"Yeah, what the fuck?" Bryan asks back, eyes narrowed. He's towering above Patrick. "Funny you'd ask that."

It's fair that he's angry and pissed, Patrick _gets_ it, but this is hockey— _work_ —and their team relies on them to keep their personal issues separate. Bryan can avoid him all he wants, can act like Patrick's dead, he could corner Patrick after practice to yell and shove at him, and Patrick would deserve it. But you don't do that kind of shit during practice with your own guys and Bryan forgetting that pisses Patrick off.

He pushes himself up, barely realizing that the play has been stopped, that the guys are getting closer to see what's going on in their corner.

"What the fuck is your problem?" Bryan is right there in his face, way closer than necessary. "Just get off my back and quit this bullshit."

"Don't act like you don't know what the goddamn problem is," Bryan grits out, shoving at his chest. Clearly, Patrick has no idea what's good for him because he shoves back and before he knows it, Bryan is dropping his gloves and pulling on Patrick's jersey.

"Yo, yo, Tazer," someone yells, but Bryan is already lunging forward, and Patrick's not a coward, but he knows when he's about to lose a battle, so he ducks his head and shoves at Bryan's chest again, trying to move away, vaguely aware that people are rushing closer now.

Bryan gets him in a headlock way too easily, pulls Patrick down with him, and Patrick goes down flailing, yanking on Bryan's jersey, but Bryan squeezes, and Patrick lets out a gurgling sound at the sudden pressure around his throat.

"Guys, guys." Someone pulls Bryan's arm away, and Patrick almost faceplants into the ice.

"Fuck you," Bryan yells while Saader pulls him away with wide eyes. "You don't get to just act like you don't know—" He interrupts himself, his face a grimace, and Patrick knows Bryan's got every right to be so angry, but if he yells it out right now in the middle of practice—Patrick might as well retire right on the spot.

"Tazer," Saader says, giving him a gentle but firm shake. "Dude, calm down, yeah?"

Bryan snaps his mouth shut. The look he gives Patrick—he fully deserves that one.

"I'm fine," he mutters when Brinksy offers him his hand to pull him up, his face curious. "Nothing happened."

"Uh—" Brinksy starts but the coaches interrupt him to announce the end of practice, giving them both a pointed look as they gather their gloves, sticks, and helmets.

"Get your shit sorted out."

"Yes," Bryan says, voice pressed. "Got it."

He leaves the ice without a second look and Patrick tries his best to ignore the confused glances being thrown at him and the tense, uncomfortable silence when they’re clearing out. When he gets home, he's still shaking and just—so tired. He walks into his living room without bothering to check social media to see what people are saying about today's incident.

If this is his life now, he fucking hates it. He hates himself for creating this mess. All he can hope for is that Bryan's anger is focused on Patrick instead of Jonny.

-

Sharpy comes over an hour later. Patrick should have expected that.

"I brought food," he says, lifting the plastic container. "And, uh—you look like you might need some company."

"Thanks." Patrick rolls his eyes but lets him in because Sharpy is right, he's about to go crazy on his own. And he's gonna have to explain to people what's been going on sooner or later anyway. Erica already asked if he's feeling sick, and Sharpy might be a good place to start. He's seen many of Patrick's not-so-proud moments. Nothing as bad as this but if there's someone who can handle it, it's gotta be Sharpy.

"So—Tazer," Sharpy says halfway through a very quiet lunch. "I heard you guys are fighting."

"One way of putting it, I guess."

"Wanna tell me what's going on?"

"You're not gonna leave if I don’t."

"Right," Sharpy agrees with a soft grin.

The bare thought of telling him is humiliating and terrible, and Patrick just wants to crawl into a hole and die.

If he at least regretted it. If he could call it a mistake and say he'd never do it again. If he didn't miss Jonny so much—maybe that would make it a little easier.

"I fucked up," he mumbles into his pasta. "I just—I fucked up. Bryan hates me, and he's right, and he's never going to speak to me again."

Sharpy's face softens. "That's a little harsh, isn't it? I'm sure he'll come around. You guys have always been—"

"No," Patrick interrupts. "You don't get it. I _fucked_ up. And you're gonna think I'm disgusting and probably hate me, too. And—I wouldn't blame you."

Sharpy's face goes through a bunch of emotions, from alarmed to frowning to concerned in just a few seconds.

"You know I’m not here to judge you, Peeks."

"No, but you're going to and I just—" Patrick wants to slam his forehead against the table. Is it possible to drown yourself in tomato sauce? Maybe it's worth a try. This can't get any more humiliating. "I get it."

"Okay," Sharpy says slowly, and he doesn't push it after that, just keeps watching Patrick while he pushes his noodles around and keeps poking his fork into it until the noodle is merely a mushy piece of dough on his plate.

Sharpy _has_ been through a lot with him. He won't get it, he won't like it, but he'll be there for Patrick. At least Patrick's desperately clinging to that thought because if not—he can't lose everyone in his life over this.

"I, uh—" He inhales. "I—I slept with Jonny."

The words come out in a rush. He wishes he could take them back as soon as they've left his mouth.

Sharpy pauses.

Patrick's staring at the red sauce on his table and what used to be a noodle before he picked it apart with his fork. His cheeks are burning, his hands trembling, and it sounds so absurd when he's saying it out loud. If only he could dig himself a hole and never crawl out.

"I don't—" Sharpy says slowly, his tone weirdly off. "Jonny _who_?"

Patrick is not going to repeat this.

"You know what Jonny I'm talking about, Sharpy."

There is a long, heavy silence. Patrick still doesn't dare to look up.

"Jonny Toews?" Sharpy repeats, his voice full of shock. Patrick can't blame him. "He's—Pat, he's a teenager."

Yeah.

 _Duh_.

"I noticed that," he grits out. "Thank you, Sharpy. I was aware."

"Oh fuck," Sharpy says. "I guess—holy shit."

His face is just as blank as Bryan's but less hostile, and he wordlessly walks over to the fridge, grabs two bottles of beer, and sets them down on the table, a deep sigh coming over his lips. Before Patrick knows what he's doing, he's grabbed the second bottle and taken a long sip. It might not be the healthiest coping mechanism, but he needs it.

Sharpy sighs again. "Alright. Do I get to hear the full story?"

And that's exactly why Sharpy is his favorite friend. He'll listen, kick Patrick's ass, and then he'll stick around and find a way to fix things.

"There's not a whole lot to say," Patrick mutters. "He's been around, and I just—" There's literally no excuse. "We spent time together, and I enjoyed it, and—we kissed, and when he came over, I wanted to tell him we couldn't keep doing it, but—" Patrick interrupts himself and shakes his head. "We wanted to see each for a while, to make sure it works before talking to his family, to sort a few things out, but Bryan walked in on us at family skate and—he wasn't too thrilled obviously."

"I mean I can see why," Sharpy says softly. After that first initial shock, he's doing a good job of hiding whatever he's really thinking about this.

Patrick shrugs. "Yeah, sure."

"So that's why everyone left family skate so early."

Of course people noticed.

"I don't understand—" Sharpy furrows his brow. "Why Jonny? How do you suddenly—"

"I don't know, Sharpy. I don't fucking know. And if you think it's not freaking me out that he's so young, you're wrong."

He takes a swig of beer so large that he almost makes himself choke, and Sharpy lets him cough for a second before shaking his head.

"So, you didn't just hook up with him? There was, uh—more?"

"Yeah. I wouldn't—I'd never just fuck with him like that."

"Okay," Sharpy says, his tone neutral. "Okay, that's—Peeks, that's a lot to process."

"I didn't want Bryan to find out like that."

"No, I know. Did you guys talk?"

"I tried, but he won't listen. I haven't heard from Jonny either, so I’m not sure what's going on, but I don't think I should be the one to reach out."

"No," Sharpy agrees. "No, I think you should give them some time and let things cool down."

Patrick nods, and then before he knows what he's doing, blurts out, "Jonny told me he loves me." Sharpy raises an eyebrow. "Before he—when Bryan saw us kissing. Jonny said it right before he left, and I haven't—we haven't talked since."

"And do you—" It sounds like Sharpy is forcing the words out, and he's not bothering to hide his disbelief any longer. "Do you love him back?"

That's what it comes down to.

That Patrick is head over heels for a teenager, and he's never been able to stay away. That it wasn’t just Jonny having a hopeless crush on him.

"Yeah," he whispers. "I do."

Sharpy makes a sound that's not quite acceptance, but it also isn't disapproval.

"I don't know what I was going to do after that one month," Patrick says. "I knew Bryan would hate me, but I was serious about the whole thing."

"I think you need to give it time. Let them sort it out, and then talk to Bryan and Jonny."

"It's just so hard to imagine that anything would be better in a few days."

"Not in a few days maybe," Sharpy says, drumming his fingers along the neck of the bottle. "But you need to give it time. And—I am not trying to lecture you here. I had no idea you even talked to Jonny. But Bryan and you have always been close, and I think you should really think about if it's worth it. If he can accept it, that's great, but if he doesn't—it's not gonna be easy. And—"

The doorbell cuts him off.

Patrick's so fucking tired of all this.

"Hold on," he mutters, pushing his half-empty beer to the side. He yanks the door open, opens his mouth, and then shuts it again when his eyes meet Jonny's. Even now, when Jonny grimaces and fakes a crooked grin, Patrick's stomach swirls at the sight of him.

"Can I come in?" Jonny asks quietly, and before Patrick can think about whether that's a good idea, Sharpy clears his throat behind them. "Oh," Jonny adds, face twisting. "I didn't realize you were here, Uncle Sharpy."

"Nope," Sharpy says quickly, sliding off his stool. "I'm not here. Never was."

He leaves his pasta and beer on the kitchen island and quickly grabs his jacket, giving Patrick a pointed look while he makes his way out of the condo, clapping Jonny's shoulder as he passes him by.

"Uh—" Jonny steps back so Sharpy can leave, and Patrick's kind of tempted to run after him and pretend that there aren't thousands of things he has to talk about and deal with.

"Come in," he says with a sigh when Jonny opens his mouth, probably to ask what the fuck is going on.

"I didn't mean to interrupt something."

"It's fine. And, uh, it's good to see you."

"Yeah," Jonny says softly. He takes his jacket off and follows Patrick into the kitchen, grinning at the beer. "Did he get you drunk?"

"Not yet, but I wish he had." Patrick takes another sip before sliding a glass of water over for Jonny. "How long can you stay here before your dad calls the cops on me?"

The joking tone he was aiming for doesn't quite carry over and Jonny frowns in response, pausing before he can take a gulp from his water.

"You might not be my dad's favorite person right now, but he wouldn't call the cops on you. What the fuck, Patrick? He would never do that."

"Well, he has every right to and—"

"No, he doesn't," Jonny interrupts with a huff. "I am not a kid, and he can't demand shit from me."

They really are not going to get anywhere here.

Patrick rubs a hand over his forehead and sighs. "How are things at home?"

The corner of Jonny's mouth twitches. "Not great."

Well, not exactly a surprise.

"Dad refuses to talk to me," Jonny adds. "I think he was trying to convince himself that you've brainwashed me and that I didn't have a choice, and he's not coping well with realizing that it didn't happen that way."

Patrick's not sure if that really matters. It wouldn't matter to him if he was Bryan.

"What about Andrée?"

"She's not trying to tell herself that the entire thing will magically disappear as long we don't talk about it at least. I heard her arguing with dad that he needs to stop acting like I'm a child that didn't know what he was doing, so—she's coping a little better. She's asked me not to provoke dad and to give him some time."

"I'm sorry," Patrick says, swallowing around the lump in his throat. "You shouldn't have to deal with that. Have you—did they take your phone or something?"

"No, I—uh, I didn't try to reach out because I was—I didn't know if you wanted me to."

"Yeah? As if that has stopped you before."

The chirp has left Patrick's lips before he can stop himself, before he can remember that this isn't the time for teasing, and Jonny blushes, rubbing a hand across his neck, tearing his eyes away.

"It’s different," Jonny says quietly. "You didn't say anything before—before I left, and I wasn't sure—I guess I just didn't want to send a text. And I figured it would just make things worse if I went to see you. But then I heard what happened at practice, and—I just felt stupid sitting around at home."

"What happened at practice wasn’t your fault," Patrick says quickly.

Jonny huffs. He pushes Sharpy's pasta to the side and leans onto the kitchen island, a shadow running over his face.

"I never wanted any of that to happen. I wasn't thinking about the team, and I should have. It was—"

How can Jonny blame himself for any of this when he's not the adult here who let himself get carried away? When he wasn't the only one who was being stupid?

"Jonny," Patrick interrupts. "It's my work that we're talking about. And it's my job to worry about that. I was supposed to be thinking about the team, and I—well, actually, I did. I knew that it could fuck with the team and, apparently, I didn't care enough."

"It's my fault that he saw us in the first place," Jonny insists, miserable. "I shouldn't have—"

"I went after you, right?" Patrick barks out an unamused laugh. He doesn't need Jonny to coddle him. He had enough time to think about his fuck-ups. No point in glossing over them. "I could have stayed behind. I made a choice so, no, it's not your fault."

"He shouldn't have found out that way. He would be better about it if we had talked to him first."

"Well, it's naïve to think that your parents would ever be happy about it." Patrick can be realistic here, there's no point in lying to themselves. "And, Jon, I get it. I broke your father's trust when we went behind his back, and—Jesus, Jonny, dating you would make me his son-in-law, and he's one of my best friends. That's so fucking wrong that I can't even—"

"You don't want this anymore," Jonny says flatly, voice shaking. "If you don't want me—" He trails off, looking so fucking lost, and Patrick hates himself for putting that defeated, broken look into his eyes. He's never seen Jonny like that, even when Patrick was pushing him away.

"It's not about me wanting or not wanting you." He rubs the back of his hand over his eyes and empties his beer with a few large gulps, well aware that Jonny's eyes are focused on the movements of his throat. "That's never been the issue. I wish it was only that."

Jonny stays silent, waiting for Patrick to say more and call the shots. If he told him to leave—he's not sure if Jonny wouldn't actually listen this time. He must be tired of arguing with Patrick all the time.

And still, Patrick _can't_.

He can't just break it off like that, he can't send Jonny away.

"Why did you come here?" he asks. It's sharper than he means it to come out, but Jonny only raises an eyebrow in response.

"Because I wanted to talk to you," he says with a shrug, his voice soft. "And I missed you. When I said I loved you—I hope you know I meant it."

It's been all Patrick's been able to think about, but he's still not ready to address the biggest elephant in the room. He regrets having emptied his beer already, but at least he has the empty bottle to hold onto before he continues to obsessively rub his hands over his face.

"I know," he says quietly.

Jonny nods, and after a few seconds of silence, attempts a grin.

"Got anything to say to that?"

"So many things that I don't know where to start." Patrick takes a deep breath and lets the air out on a sigh. "Your parents have every right to be against it. And you're probably risking your relationship with them. I am risking my friendship with them. And you're 18, Jonny. What if you meet a handsome dude at college and you decide—"

"I fucking hate it when you do that," Jonny bursts out. "When you act like I’m some fucking kid that's looking for an adventure. When you make me beg you not to talk to me like you're an 80-year-old. I'm not even going to talk about meeting someone else because that's bullshit and you know it. I don't know what my parents will say in a year. But neither do you. So, if you don't want me, just tell me. I'll leave and tell my dad I'm not seeing you anymore, and we can all pretend it never happened. It will be awkward for a while, but then I'll leave Chicago, and nothing will matter anymore."

"And if I want to see you again," Patrick adds for him, mouth dry. "Then what?"

"Then we'll make it work," Jonny says with a shrug like it’s obvious. "Then I'll talk to my parents, and my dad will come around. He knows you, and he knows that I can look out for myself. He just needs to get used to it. I know people will talk, but it's not like we're going to be able to tell a bunch of people anyway."

"And that's not an issue for you?"

"No," Jonny says, so fucking firm and sure. "I love you, and I want you, and we'll figure it out. It's easy when it's only us, because I'm really fucking happy, and I don't want others to ruin that."

He's looking Patrick right in the eyes as if he's daring him to object, and Patrick's just—he's so sick of arguing. If it doesn't work out, at least he would know that he gave it a try, and he won't spend the rest of his life wondering what could have been with Jonny.

Patrick inhales.

"Do you know why I love you so much?" he asks, and Jonny's eyes start shining, and he breaks into a huge grin that makes Patrick smile back helplessly.

"No, tell me."

"You go after what you want. And you don't make up any excuses, and I kind of love how stubborn you are even though I know it will drive me crazy all the time."

"It will, huh?" Jonny's still grinning.

"Yeah," Patrick agrees softly.

Next thing he knows, he's on the other side of the kitchen island, and Jonny's laughing, opening his arms for Patrick to step into, chasing Patrick's lips with his.

It feels like coming home to wrap his arms around Jonny's neck and pull him flush.

"I have to go home," Jonny mutters, brushing his lips across Patrick's temple. "But I'm going to talk to my parents, and I swear I'll call you."

"I can come with you," Patrick offers because that feels like the right thing to do. Not that he wants to. Eventually, he'll have to face Bryan and Andrée again, but he's happy to push that back for now.

Because avoiding confrontation has worked so well for him in the past.

He's clearly not learning.

But he still can't hide the relief when Jonny shakes his head.

"I think it's better if I talk to them first," he says. His hands slide to Patrick's hips, and he bends down to kiss the top of his head. "I don't think dad will want to listen if we show up together."

He's got a point.

"Tell Bryan I'm here to talk whenever he wants. Your mom too, I guess."

Patrick would pay a good amount of money to be able to keep Jonny here and pretend that everything is fine now. Instead, he doesn't even know what's going to happen once Jonny gets back home, and if Bryan kicked his front door in right now to drag Jonny back home, he wouldn't be surprised either. But the thought of having to let go for good and break up is impossible to stomach. It can't get much worse than the idea of making them both unhappy.

"I love you," Jonny says, finding Patrick's lips for another kiss. "And you make me so happy, you have no idea."

Patrick just clings to him harder, desperately trying not to whimper into the kiss.

"I love you too, but you gotta stop kissing me, or you're never going to leave," he manages while pulling Jonny closer at the same time.

Jonny laughs, and he turns his face into Patrick's cheek, arms tightening around his body.

"Got any objections to that?" His breath is hot on Patrick's skin, and Patrick shivers in response.

"No, but—" He inhales, thankful that the oxygen brings his brain a little more to life. Patrick gently untangles himself from Jonny, pressing another kiss to his lips. "You gotta leave, Jonny. I mean it."

Jonny drops his hands with a sigh, and the frown on his face makes Patrick feel like an asshole, but they have to get a grip just this once and deal with the issues they're facing. Jonny nods, sighing as he makes his way back into the hallway. Patrick watches him grab his jacket, and he lets himself make out with Jonny a little longer before he finally makes them break apart, gently shoving at Jonny's chest.

"Leave," he whines, begging almost.

Jonny laughs, surges forward again and when he's finally gone one minute later, he's leaving Patrick half-hard and desperate and also a little terrified.

Bryan never would have let him get away with any of it, so it doesn't make a difference, but it still feels like he's reached a point of no return.


	9. Chapter Nine

Patrick spends the rest of the day anxiously fiddling around. He heads to the store to grab groceries but keeps checking his phone. He makes enough smoothies for the entire week and is still staring at his phone when he tries to get caught up on a few bills and emails.

When he still hasn't heard from Jonny, he cooks an early dinner and watches some hockey while he eats, his phone never leaving his side. Halfway through the first period, the abrupt ring makes him jump and almost spill the dressing of his salad all over the couch. His heart is already racing as he scrambles to mute the TV.

"Hi," Jonny says, voice pleasantly deep. It's impossible to hear whether he's upset or relieved, and Patrick gets up, phone pressed between his cheek and shoulder, to walk to the window and stare at the city below him, teeth digging into his lower lip.

It seems impossible to be able to stay still

"What did they say?" he asks, a deep urgency in his voice, then, softer, "Are you okay?"

"Yeah," Jonny says quietly. "I’m okay. They are—not thrilled. I thought dad might have a heart attack, but I feel like mom expected it. She was concerned, but I don't think she's angry."

"Good," Patrick breathes, his shoulders dropping.

It could have been a lot worse.

"I think they get it now. Dad was hoping I'd stay away, and he could pretend nothing ever happened, but I was making it pretty clear that I'm serious about us. Mom said we should all sleep on it. She says hi though."

_Oh._

Patrick kind of wants to kiss Andrée.

Jonny chuckles. "I think she was a little scared that I would just pack my bags and move in with you. She's been pissed at dad for being so harsh, she thinks it just makes me more stubborn and that there's no point in being angry."

It would be the worst move, would only make things worse, and there's no way Patrick would ever let Jonny just live here, but he can see the concern. He wouldn't put it past Jonny—he _is_ stubborn, and Patrick is the first person to confirm that.

"Maybe you could talk to my dad again," Jonny adds softly. "I think he's cooled off now. He was—not proud of the whole practice incident. If he just hears it from you, if he realizes that I'm not just a lovesick teenager who doesn't know what he's doing—I think that would help."

"Yeah, and—I owe him an apology and explanation anyways."

It's time for him to take some accountability and be an actual adult who's able to communicate.

Jonny hums.

"I love you," Patrick adds because it feels mind-blowing that he can say that now. "Think we can get together for coffee soon?"

"I'd love to. But—" Jonny makes a pained sound. "I know it's awkward, but you should come over for dinner sometime. If I just hang out at your place, they'll just be skeptical, and I—I don't want to act like I have to hide you."

"I get it," Patrick interrupts. The more they hide, the more Jonny is over at his place, the more Bryan and Andrée are going to be against it, the more it's going to feel like something shady might be going on. "I'll see if Bryan will listen to me tomorrow."

They're flying out on another trip and maybe Patrick can catch him in the hotel away from the guys, even if it's just to make sure that they'll be able to play together without any issue, even if Bryan doesn't want to hear his apology or explanation. Jonny is right, they'll need time, and all Patrick can do is show his willingness to be there and talk whenever Bryan is ready.

"Just let me know if there's anything I can do," he says, walking back to the couch to slump down. With all the tension having left his body, he's suddenly tired, exhausted and drained, and he could probably head to bed right now.

He didn't sleep too well these past few days.

"I think it's going to be fine," Jonny answers. "Maybe not for a few weeks, but eventually. They'll come around."

All Patrick can do for now is hope that he's right. Sometimes, he's not sure if it's youthful, naïve optimism, or if Jonny is just a realist who's good at judging people while Patrick's still trying to see the reasons why their relationship could ever work.

-

To his big surprise, Bryan actually looks at him when they board the plane—a look portraying disbelief and irritation—and he looks away when Patrick offers a hesitant smile, but maybe it's a start. They get to the hotel with little time to spare before practice, so Patrick waits until later when it's time for their nap before gently knocking on the adjoining door between their rooms.

It takes a few seconds before he gets an impatient, "What?" in return.

He tries to open the door but it's locked from Bryan's side, and he sighs at the solid wood in front of him, a feeling of unease in his stomach.

"Can we talk? Please?"

Footsteps approach the door, and despite the carpet in the room, they are heavy and loud. Patrick has just enough time to swallow before Bryan yanks the door open. He takes a step forward to get a foot in the door, just in case Bryan changes his mind.

"I'm sorry," he says quickly before Bryan can snap at him again. He means to add something—an explanation maybe or some justification—but Bryan beats him to it.

"Yeah? Sorry for what? Sleeping with my fucking _kid_?"

 _Well_.

That's pretty much the one thing he's not sorry for. He's sorry for how they went about it, but he's not so much sorry anymore for sleeping with Jonny.

"Tazer," he tries carefully. "Can I please come in?"

"Fine," Bryan huffs. He takes a step back and makes a jerky motion with his head.

Patrick breathes a sigh of relief and takes a seat at the desk once he's inside the room. Sitting on Bryan's bed feels a little too personal right now.

"I'm sorry," he repeats. "I didn't mean to go behind your back or keep secrets from you. I didn't mean for you to get into a fight with Jonny, and I never wanted to betray you."

"Jonny said you guys were planning to tell us," Bryan says, and it sounds less hostile now. He's still got his arms folded across his chest, leaning against the wall like he doesn't want to sit down in case he has to throw Patrick out quickly. It's a little unsettling.

"We were," Patrick agrees quietly. "I didn't want to—Tazer, I'm not sure what Jonny told you, but I am in love with him." Bryan's face doesn't falter. He probably had time to get used to it. "I didn't look at him and decide that I wanted to have some fun. I enjoyed spending time with him, and when I realized he felt the same—" He's staring at the wall behind Bryan now, too scared of finding disgust in his eyes. "I didn't just decide to sleep with him and ignore whatever the consequences are. I tried staying away, but—I couldn't."

"You should have told me," Bryan says, voice tight. "Jonny is my son. I'm not stupid enough to think he's telling me about everyone he sleeps with, but you're my friend, Kaner. And when you start to have feelings for my son and start acting on them—I think I deserve to know about that."

"I know." Patrick shrugs helplessly, and when he forces himself to meet Bryan's eyes again, they're still neutral, his face flat. It's unnerving not to know what he's thinking. "All I can say is that we were going to. I was fucking terrified of losing you as my friend and everyone hating me. And I wanted to be sure of the relationship before telling you. I didn't want to create drama with you only for Jonny and I to get sick of each other after two weeks and realize that it's never going to go anywhere."

"Oh, and then you would have never told me?" Bryan asks, and he sounds on the verge of hysteria.

Maybe Patrick's wrong and Bryan hadn’t had enough time to process everything yet.

"I don't know." He groans and rubs a hand across his face, his cheeks feeling hot to the touch. "I don't fucking know. I would have, probably, but I was scared because I know you have every right to be pissed."

"Yes," Bryan grits out. "He's my child. Of course I am." Now, he slumps down on the bed and groans, low and frustrated. His jaw is still clenched, but his posture is more relaxed, and Patrick watches him, knowing there's nothing he can do to make it better. "I don't get—" Bryan's voice cracks. "He's a teenager. I don't get how—why him of all people?"

If Patrick knew, maybe he wouldn't be here right now. If only he knew and could pinpoint what's so fascinating about Jonny.

"It doesn't feel like he's a teenager," he says quietly. "I don't forget, but it's just—it doesn't feel like hanging out with a kid. He's not a boy to me."

Bryan nods jerkily and doesn't say anything for a while. Patrick could get up and sit next to him, or he could try to find an explanation but what else is there to say? It would just piss Bryan off more. This conversation has gone better than expected—at least Patrick hasn’t gotten punched again—but it'll take so much time to get even close to where they were. And it could still go so, so wrong that Patrick's scared of making a wrong move.

"I would never risk our friendship for something I'm not serious about," he finally adds. He just needs Bryan to understand that so badly. "And I would never want Jonny to choose between me and you. I understand it takes time, but maybe you could just—give us a chance."

Bryan closes his eyes and inhales through his nose, defeated and tired.

"I think you know this already, but Jonny is determined to go through with it," he finally says slowly. "I know my son, and I know what it looks like when he's passionate about something. Or I guess—" He huffs. " _Someone_. And I want him to be happy. I truly do. But it's difficult to see—I'm sorry but I don't see it working out."

At least he sounds genuinely sorry, but it still hurts to hear it out loud—the thing that Patrick's secretly so scared of.

"I understand that," he forces himself to say.

"I think I just need some time," Bryan says, and that hurts too, but Patrick can remind himself that it's a fair request to make.

"Yes," he says quietly. "Take as much time as you need."

Bryan nods. "I am sorry about what happened at practice."

"It's fine."

Another nod, the motion less jerky now while Bryan offers a tiny smile that looks like a grimace, but at least he's trying.

"I'm not happy about it," he repeats after another second. "But I’m not going to keep him from seeing you."

"Thank you," Patrick says softly even though he has a feeling that's more for Jonny's sake than his own.

Bryan heaves out a deep breath like he can't believe what he just said, and Patrick takes that as his cue to leave. Who could blame Bryan for wanting something else for his son? Someone younger, someone who doesn't have to keep Jonny a secret. Sometimes, Patrick can't help but wonder himself why the fuck Jonny would ever want to be with him.

-

They close the road trip with a win over the Canucks, which is always nice, and Patrick's in a good mood, especially when he gets a text from Jonny that he'll come over for breakfast in the morning. It feels surreal that they can just do that now.

"We could eat dinner at my place," Jonny says, his chest flush with Patrick's back while Patrick attempts to make bacon. Jonny refuses to pull away, and Patrick doesn't mind, but it complicates the cooking process when he gets distracted by Jonny's lips on his shoulder.

"Don’t you think that’s a little too soon?"

Jonny rests his chin on his shoulder, arms tightening around Patrick's waist.

"We don't have anything to hide."

"Obviously not, but—" Patrick isn't prepared for all of this. He expected to take it slow and ease Jonny's parents into it, and then they dove head-first into the entire thing, and Patrick's too overwhelmed to keep track of how fast everything is changing.

"But?" Jonny asks softly, turning his face into Patrick's cheek as he speaks. "You've had dinner with my parents and David thousands of times."

"It's different."

"Yes, but we could just get it over with." Jonny takes a step back to lean against the kitchen counter next to Patrick and folds his arms across his chest, still looking relaxed and happy, a soft grin on his face. "Besides, my mom said you should come over."

"And Bryan?"

"He doesn't really argue when she suggests something," Jonny says so dryly that Patrick looks up from the fizzling bacon in the pan to raise an eyebrow. Jonny grins. "I mean it, I don't think he’s thrilled, but my mom thinks it's a good idea."

If Andrée thinks that—it's understandable that she wants to see them together before letting Jonny spend so much more time here.

Patrick sighs.

"So, you're coming?" Jonny asks, pressing another kiss to Patrick's cheek.

"You're not going to shut up until I say yes," he grumbles.

At least they'll get it over with. The longer they wait the more awkward it is going to get.

"No," Jonny says very seriously, leaning in for a kiss that lasts so long that they almost burn the bacon.

It's a little too crispy, but Patrick barely cares anyway because Jonny has his ankle hooked around Patrick's. He keeps stroking his heel along Patrick's calf, looking at him with deep, dark eyes, and they end up rushing through breakfast because Patrick's suddenly very eager to have Jonny's dick inside of him.

"Should have let myself have this way sooner," he gasps while he's sinking down on Jonny's cock, Jonny staring up at him with wide eyes. He's got his hands on Patrick's hips, but they're only loosely following Patrick's motions as he starts fucking himself on Jonny's dick.

"Yeah," Jonny agrees breathlessly. "Would have saved me a lot of begging."

"You didn't—oh fuck—" Patrick arches his back, and that changes the angle, so Jonny's cock is pressed right up against his prostate, little stars appearing in front of his eyes, blurring his vision. "You never beg. You just demand shit from everyone."

Jonny laughs, his chest rumbling underneath Patrick's palms. "Well, you're here." He brings his arms up around Patrick's neck and pulls him down, his breath hot in Patrick's ear while Jonny digs his heels into the mattress and lifts his hips, a harsh movement that makes Patrick gasp. "So, I think it worked out fine for me," Jonny adds, rolling his hips again. The thrusts are rocky with Patrick's weight on his hips, and Jonny groans, "Up" on a deep exhale.

His cheeks are flushed a deep red, sweat glistening on his neck, and he might be the most gorgeous man Patrick's ever laid eyes on, let alone slept with, his eyes somehow both intense and incredibly soft when Patrick huffs out a breath.

"Demanding."

"Yes. _Up_." Jonny thrusts into him again, and Patrick's entire body is pushed forward, and he has to force himself to support his own weight again, catching himself with his forearms braced on Jonny's chest, when Jonny slides his hands to Patrick's thighs. They're trembling with the effort to kneel above Jonny's waist while Jonny fucks into him, harder thrusts that almost make Patrick fall into Jonny's arms, but the grip of Jonny's hands is firm on his hips now, holding him steady while he fucks him, panting at the strain of his muscles.

"Patrick, I’m gonna come," Jonny says, voice coming out strained. "Can I—"

Patrick interrupts him with a kiss, whimpering against his lips when it changes the angle again. He shifts his weight onto his arms to take some weight off his trembling thighs, but Jonny just ends up chasing the tightness of his hole, slamming into him a few more times—hard thrusts that thrum through Patrick's entire body—before he comes with a strangled gasp.

His head falls back on the mattress, and Patrick keeps rolling his hips to meet his thrusts, tucking his face into the curve of Jonny's neck, absently mouthing at the heated, flushed skin. It tastes a little salty from Jonny's sweat and smells like his fresh aftershave when Patrick pushes his nose deeper into the skin.

Jonny groans when his soft cock slips out of Patrick's hole, the noise exhausted, and Patrick's dick twitches at the sound, his muscles clenching. Since Jonny's not going to be of any help, Patrick rolls off to kneel next to him, wraps his fingers around his throbbing dick, and lets out a soft moan when he catches a drop of precum.

Jonny's already watching him, eyes half-closed, chest rising and falling with every breath.

"You're so pretty," he says, voice scratchy and rough. He places a kiss on Patrick's knee and moves his head between Patrick's legs, forcing them apart when he kisses a trail from Patrick's knee to his dick, soft and teasing, little bites and sucking kisses, dangerously close to leaving a bruise. His fingers follow his lips, featherlight touches before he pushes them into Patrick's hole, two sliding in easily once his lips have reached Patrick's stomach.

Patrick's breath hitches, hole clenching greedily.

His hand seems to speed up on its own.

"I love you," Jonny whispers, and that's almost enough to make Patrick come, but his cock ends up twitching desperately, and then Jonny bats his hands away and licks along the length of his dick before sucking the tip into his mouth. It's warm and wet, and his fingers are feeling for Patrick's prostate, sliding in and out at the same speed he's sucking Patrick's dick, and—Patrick means to drag it out, to enjoy the sight of Jonny's lips around his cock, his fingers disappearing inside of him, but it's so intense already, little shivers running down his spine, the pressure around his groin building and building until he can't fight it off anymore.

"Jonny," he says warningly, and Jonny hums around his cock, and Patrick's vision goes black for a second.

He groans and comes in Jonny's mouth, abs clenching and unclenching while he gasps through his orgasm, his fingers finding their way into Jonny's hair to have something to hold onto. His eyes fall shut, and he absently feels Jonny's lips move up his stomach and chest until they reach his lips that open up easily under Jonny's.

Patrick tastes himself on Jonny's lips, and that suddenly makes it so real. Jonny's here, and he's Patrick's, and they can move forward together and explore this new thing between them and let the others see how good it is.

"I love you," he whispers and Jonny smiles into the kiss, so Patrick deepens it until the fuzzy emotions inside of him settle down, until they've faded into deep content, a happiness surrounding him that has everything to do with Jonny's body being curled around his.


End file.
